WANDEKING   GHOSTS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •   BOSTON  •    CHICAGO 
SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


What?  .  .  .     it's  gone,  man,  the  skull  is  gone! !" 


WANDERING  GHOSTS 


BY 
F.  MARION   CRAWFORD 

AUTHOR    OF    "  SARACINESCA,"    "A   ROMAN 
SINGER,"   ETC. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE 


Nein  fgorfc 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1911 

All  rights  reserved 


cAYl 


COPYRIGHT,   1894, 

BY  G.  P.   PUTNAM'S  SONS. 

COPYRIGHT,  1899, 
BY  STKEET  AND  SMITH. 

COPYRIGHT,  1903, 
BY  F.   MARION  CEAWFORD 

AND 

BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

COPYRIGHT,  1905  AND  1908, 
BY  P.  F.   COLLIER  AND  SON. 

COPYRIGHT,  1911, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.      Published  March,  19x1. 


J.  S.  Gushing  Co.  -    Berwick  <fc  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Maes.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

PAGB 

THE  DEAD  SMILE 1 

""THE  SCREAMING  SKULL          ......  41 

MAN  OVERBOARD! 97 

FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE        .....  165 

""THE  UPPER  BERTH 195 

BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE     .....  235 

THE  DOLL'S  GHOST 279 


495Y8 


THE   DEAD    SMILE 


THE   DEAD    SMILE 


CHAPTER  I 

SIR  HUGH  OCKRAM  smiled  as  he  sat  by  the  open 
window  of  his  study,  in  the  late  August  after 
noon  ;  and  just  then  a  curiously  yellow  cloud 
obscured  the  low  sun,  and  the  clear  summer  light 
turned  lurid,  as  if  it  had  been  suddenly  poisoned 
and  polluted  by  the  foul  vapours  of  a  plague.  Sir 
Hugh's  face  seemed,  at  best,  to  be  made  of  fine 
parchment  drawn  skin-tight  over  a  wooden  mask, 
in  which  two  eyes  were  sunk  out  of  sight,  and 
peered  from  far  within  through  crevices  under  the 
slanting,  wrinkled  lids,  alive  and  watchful  like 
two  toads  in  their  holes,  side  by  side  and  exactly 
alike.  But  as  the  light  changed,  then  a  little 
yellow  glare  flashed  in  each.  Nurse  Macdonald 
said  once  that  when  Sir  Hugh  smiled  he  saw  the 
faces  of  two  women  in  hell  —  two  dead  women 
he  had  betrayed.  (Nurse  Macdonald  was  a  hun 
dred  years  old.)  And  the  smile  widened,  stretch 
ing  the  pale  lips  across  the  discoloured  teeth  in 


,4!  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

•a'/i  ecxprqssion  of  profound  self-satisfaction,  blended 
with  the  most  unforgiving  hatred  and  contempt 
for  the  human  doll.  The  hideous  disease  of  which 
he  was  dying  had  touched  his  brain.  His  son 
stood  beside  him,  tall,  white  and  delicate  as  an 
angel  in  a  primitive  picture ;  and  though  there 
was  deep  distress  in  his  violet  eyes  as  he  looked 
at  his  father's  face,  he  felt  the  shadow  of  that 
sickening  smile  stealing  across  his  own  lips  and 
parting  them  and  drawing  them  against  his  will. 
And  it  was  like  a  bad  dream,  for  he  tried  not  to 
smile  and  smiled  the  more.  Beside  him,  strangely 
like  him  in  her  w^an,  angelic  beauty,  with  the 
same  shadowy  golden  hair,  the  same  sad  violet 
eyes,  the  same  luminously  pale  face,  Evelyn  War- 
burton  rested  one  hand  upon  his  arm.  And  as 
she  looked  into  her  uncle's  eyes,  and  could  not 
turn  her  own  away,  she  knew  that  the  deathly 
smile  was  hovering  on  her  own  red  lips,  drawing 
them  tightly  across  her  little  teeth,  while  two 
bright  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks  to  her  mouth, 
and  dropped  from  the  upper  to  the  lower  lip  while 
she  smiled  —  and  the  smile  was  like  the  shadow 
of  death  and  the  seal  of  damnation  upon  her  pure, 
young  face. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Sir  Hugh  very  slowly,  and 
still  looking  out  at  the  trees,  "  if  you  have  made 
up  your  mind  to  be  married,  I  cannot  hinder  you, 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  5 

and  I  don't  suppose  you  attach,  the  smallest  im 
portance  to  my  consent " 

"  Father  !  "  exclaimed  Gabriel  reproachfully. 

"No;  I  do  not  deceive  myself/'  continued  the 
old  man,  smiling  terribly.  "  You  will  marry  when 
I  am  dead,  though  there  is  a  very  good  reason  why 
you  had  better  not  —  why  you  had  better  not,"  he 
repeated  very  emphatically,  and  he  slowly  turned 
his  toad  eyes  upon  the  lovers. 

"What  reason?"  asked  Evelyn  in  a  frightened 
voice. 

"Never  mind  the  reason,  my  dear.  You  will 
marry  just  as  if  it  did  not  exist."  There  was  a 
long  pause.  "  Two  gone,"  he  said,  his  voice  lower 
ing  strangely,  "  and  two  more  will  be  four  —  all 
together — .for  ever  and  ever,  burning,  burning, 
burning  bright." 

At  the  last  words  his  head  sank  slowly  back, 
and  the  little  glare  of  the  toad  eyes  disappeared 
under  the  swollen  lids  ;  and  the  lurid  cloud  passed 
from  the  westering  sun,  so  that  the  earth  was  green 
again  and  the  light  pure.  Sir  Hugh  had  fallen 
asleep,  as  he  often  did  in  his  last  illness,  even  while 
speaking. 

Gabriel  Ockram  drew  Evelyn  away,  and  from 
the  study  they  went  out  into  the  dim  hall,  softly 
closing  the  door  behind  them,  and  each  audibly 
drew  breath,  as  though  some  sudden  danger  had 


6  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

been  passed.  They  laid  their  hands  each  in  the 
other's,  and  their  strangely-like  eyes  met  in  a  long 
look,  in  which  love  and  perfect  understanding  were 
darkened  by  the  secret  terror  of  an  unknown  thing. 
Their  pale  faces  reflected  each  other's  fear. 

"  It  is  his  secret,"  said  Evelyn  at  last.  "  He  will 
never  tell  us  what  it  is." 

"  If  he  dies  with  it,"  answered  Gabriel,  "  let  it 
be  on  his  own  head  ! " 

"  On  his  head  !  "  echoed  the  dim  hall.  It  was  a 
strange  echo,  and  some  were  frightened  by  it,  for 
they  said  that  if  it  were  a  real  echo  it  should  re 
peat  everything  and  not  give  back  a  phrase  here 
and  there,  now  speaking,  now  silent.  But  Nurse 
Macdonald  said  that  the  great  hall  would  never 
echo  a  prayer  when  an  Ockram  was  to  die,  though 
it  would  give  back  curses  ten  for  one. 

"  On  his  head !  "  it  repeated  quite  softly,  and 
Evelyn  started  and  looked  round. 

"  It  is  only  the  echo,"  said  Gabriel,  leading  her 
away. 

They  went  out  into  the  late  afternoon  light,  and 
sat  upon  a  stone  seat  behind  the  chapel,  which  was 
built  across  the  end  of  the  east  wing.  It  was  very 
still,  not  a  breath  stirred,  and  there  was  no  sound 
near  them.  Only  far  off  in  the  park  a  song-bird 
was  whistling  the  high  prelude  to  the  evening 
chorus. 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  7 

"It  is  very  lonely  here,"  said  Evelyn,  taking 
Gabriel's  hand  nervously,  and  speaking  as  if  she 
dreaded  to  disturb  the  silence.  "  If  it  were  dark, 
I  should  be  afraid." 

"  Of  what  ?  Of  me  ?  "  Gabriel's  sad  eyes  turned 
to  her. 

"  Oh  no !  How  could  I  be  afraid  of  you  ?  But 
of  the  old  Ockrams  —  they  say  they  are  just  under 
our  feet  here  in  the  north  vault  outside  the  chapel, 
all  in  their  shrouds,  with  no  coffins,  as  they  used  to 
bury  them." 

"As  they  always  will — as  they  will  bury  my 
father,  and  me.  They  say  an  Ockram  will  not  lie 
in  a  coffin." 

"  But  it  cannot  be  true  —  these  are  fairy  tales  — 
ghost  stories ! "  Evelyn  nestled  nearer  to  her 
companion,  grasping  his  hand  more  tightly,  and 
the  sun  began  to  go  down. 

"  Of  course.  But  there  is  the  story  of  old  Sir 
Vernon,  who  was  beheaded  for  treason  under  James 
II.  The  family  brought  his  body  back  from  the 
scaffold  in  an  iron  coffin  with  heavy  locks,  and 
they  put  it  in  the  north  vault.  But  ever  after 
wards,  whenever  the  vault  was  opened  to  bury  an 
other  of  the  family,  they  found  the  coffin  wride 
open,  and  the  body  standing  upright  against  the 
wall,  and  the  head  rolled  away  in  a  corner,  smiling 
at  it." 


8  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  As  Uncle  Hugh  smiles  ?  "     Evelyn  shivered. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  answered  Gabriel,  thought 
fully.  "  Of  course  I  never  saw  it,  and  the  vault 
has  not  been  opened  for  thirty  years  —  none  of  us 
have  died  since  then." 

"  And  if  —  if  Uncle  Hugh  dies  —  shall  you " 

Evelyn  stopped,  and  her  beautiful  thin  face  was 
quite  white. 

"  Yes.  I  shall  see  him  laid  there  too  —  with  his 
secret,  whatever  it  is."  Gabriel  sighed  and  pressed 
the  girl's  little  hand. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  think  of  it,"  she  said  unsteadily. 
"  0  Gabriel,  what  can  the  secret  be  ?  He  said  we 
had  better  not  marry — not  that  he  forbade  it — but 
he  said  it  so  strangely,  and  he  smiled — ugh!  "  Her 
small  white  teeth  chattered  with  fear,  and  she  looked 
over  her  shoulder  while  drawing  still  closer  to  Ga 
briel.  "  And,  somehow,  I  felt  it  in  my  own  face — " 

"  So  did  I,"  answered  Gabriel  in  a  low,  ner 
vous  voice.  "Nurse  Macdcnald "  He  stopped 

abruptly. 

"What?     What  did  she  say?" 

"  Oh — nothing.  She  has  told  me  things — they 
would  frighten  you,  dear.  Come,  it  is  growing 
chilly."  He  rose,  but  Evelyn  held  his  hand  in  both 
of  hers,  still  sitting  and  looking  up  into  his  face. 

"  But  we  shall  be  married,  just  the  same  — 
Gabriel !  Say  that  we  shall !  " 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  9 

"Of  course,  darling  —  of  course.  But  while 
my  father  is  so  very  ill,  it  is  impossible " 

"  0  Gabriel,  Gabriel,  dear !  I  wish  we  were 
married  now  ! "  cried  Evelyn  in  sudden  distress. 
"  I  know  that  something  will  prevent  it  and  keep 
us  apart/' 

"  Nothing  shall  1 " 

"Nothing?" 

"Nothing  human,"  said  Gabriel  Ockram,  as 
she  drew  him  down  to  her. 

And  their  faces,  that  were  so  strangely  alike, 
met  and  touched  —  and  Gabriel  knew  that  the 
kiss  had  a  marvellous  savour  of  evil,  but  on 
Evelyn's  lips  it  was  like  the  cool  breath  of  a 
sweet  and  mortal  fear.  And  neither  of  them 
understood,  for  they  were  innocent  and  young. 
Yet  she  drew  him  to  her  by  her  lightest  touch, 
as  a  sensitive  plant  shivers  and  waves  its  thin 
leaves,  and  bends  and  closes  softly  upon  what 
it  wants;  and  he  let  himself  be  drawn  to  her 
willingly,  as  he  would  if  her  touch  had  been 
deadly  and  poisonous ;  for  she  strangely  loved 
that  half  voluptuous  breath  of  fear,  and  he  pas 
sionately  desired  the  nameless  evil  something  that 
lurked  in  her  maiden  lips. 

"  It  is  as  if  we  loved  in  a  strange  dream/'  she 
said. 

"  I  fear  the  waking/'  he  murmured. 


10  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"We  shall  not  wake,  dear  —  when  the  dream 
is  over  it  will  have  already  turned  into  death, 
so  softly  that  we  shall  not  know  it.  But  until 
then " 

She  paused,  and  her  eyes  sought  his,  and  their 
faces  slowly  came  nearer.  It  was  as  if  they  had 
thoughts  in  their  red  lips  that  foresaw  and  fore 
knew  the  deep  kiss  of  each  other. 

"  Until  then  -  — "  she  said  again,  very  low, 
and  her  mouth  was  nearer  to  his. 

"Dream  —  till  then,"  murmured  his  breath. 


CHAPTER  II 

NURSE  MACDONALD  was  a  hundred  years  old. 
She  used  to  sleep  sitting  all  bent  together  in  a 
great  old  leathern  arm-chair  with  wings,  her  feet 
in  a  bag  footstool  lined  with  sheepskin,  and  many 
warm  blankets  wrapped  about  her,  even  in  sum 
mer.  Beside  her  a  little  lamp  always  burned  at 
night  by  an  old  silver  cup,  in  which  there  was 
something  to  drink. 

Her  face  was  very  wrinkled,  but  the  wrinkles 
were  so  small  and  fine  and  near  together  that 
they  made  shadows  instead  of  lines.  Two  thin 
locks  of  hair,  that  was  turning  from  white  to  a 
smoky  yellow  again,  were  drawn  over  her  temples 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  11 

from  under  her  starched  white  cap.  Every  now 
and  then  she  woke,  and  her  eyelids  were  drawn 
up  in  tiny  folds  like  little  pink  silk  curtains,  and 
her  queer  blue  eyes  looked  straight  before  her 
through  doors  and  walls  and  worlds  to  a  far  place 
beyond.  Then  she  slept  again,  and  her  hands  lay 
one  upon  the  other  on  the  edge  of  the  blanket; 
the  thumbs  had  grown  longer  than  the  fingers 
with  age,  and  the  joints  shone  in  the  low  lamp 
light  like  polished  crab-apples. 

It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  in  the  night,  and 
the  summer  breeze  was  blowing  the  ivy  branch 
against  the  panes  of  the  window  with  a  hushing 
caress.  In  the  small  room  beyond,  with  the  door 
ajar,  the  girl-maid  who  took  care  of  Nurse  Mac- 
donald  was  fast  asleep.  All  was  very  quiet.  The 
old  woman  breathed  regularly,  and  her  indrawn 
lips  trembled  each  time  as  the  breath  went  out, 
and  her  eyes  were  shut. 

But  outside  the  closed  window  there  was  a 
face,  and  violet  eyes  were  looking  steadily  at  the 
ancient  sleeper,  for  it  was  like  the  face  of  Evelyn 
Warburton,  though  there  were  eighty  feet  from 
the  sill  of  the  window  to  the  foot  of  the  tower. 
Yet  the  cheeks  were  thinner  than  Evelyn's,  and 
as  white  as  a  gleam,  and  the  eyes  stared,  and  the 
lips  were  not  red  with  life;  they  were  dead,  and 
painted  with  new  blood. 


12  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Slowly  Nurse  Macdonald's  wrinkled  eyelids 
folded  themselves  back,  and  she  looked  straight  at 
the  face  at  the  window  while  one  might  count  ten. 

"Is  it  time?"  she  asked  in  her  little  old,  far 
away  voice. 

While  she  looked  the  face  at  the  window  changed, 
for  the  eyes  opened  wider  and  wider  till  the  white 
glared  all  round  the  bright  violet,  and  the  bloody 
lips  opened  over  gleaming  teeth,  and  stretched 
and  widened  and  stretched  again,  and  the  shad 
owy  golden  hair  rose  and  streamed  against  the 
window  in  the  night  breeze.  And  in  answer  to 
Nurse  Macdonald's  question  came  the  sound  that 
freezes  the  living  flesh. 

That  low-moaning  voice  that  rises  suddenly, 
like  the  scream  of  storm,  from  a  moan  to  a  wail, 
from  a  wail  to  a  howl,  from  a  howl  to  the  fear- 
shriek  of  the  tortured  dead  —  he  who  has  heard 
knows,  and  he  can  bear  witness  that  the  cry  of 
the  banshee  is  an  evil  cry  to  hear  alone  in  the 
deep  night.  When  it  was  over  and  the  face  was 
gone,  Nurse  Macdonald  shook  a  little  in  her  great 
chair,  and  still  she  looked  at  the  black  square  of 
the  window,  but  there  was  nothing  more  there, 
nothing  but  the  night,  and  the  whispering  ivy 
branch.  She  turned  her  head  to  the  door  that 
was  ajar,  and  there  stood  the  girl  in  her  white 
gown,  her  teeth  chattering  with  fright. 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  13 

"  It  is  time,  child,"  said  Nurse  Macdonald.  "  I 
must  go  to  him,  for  it  is  the  end." 

She  rose  slowly,  leaning  her  withered  hands 
upon  the  arms  of  the  chair,  and  the  girl  brought 
her  a  woollen  gown  and  a  great  mantle,  and 
her  crutch-stick,  and  made  her  ready.  But  very 
often  the  girl  looked  at  the  window  and  was 
unjointed  with  fear,  and  often  Nurse  Macdonald 
shook  her  head  and  said  words  which  the  maid 
couid  not  understand. 

"  It  was  like  the  face  of  Miss  Evelyn,"  said 
the  girl  at  last,  trembling. 

But  the  ancient  woman  looked  up  sharply 
and  angrily,  and  her  queer  blue  eyes  glared. 
She  held  herself  by  the  arm  of  the  great  chair 
with  her  left  hand,  and  lifted  up  her  crutch- 
stick  to  strike  the  maid  with  all  her  might. 
But  she  did  not. 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,"  she  said,  "  but  you 
are  a  fool.  Pray  for  wit,  child,  pray  for  wit  — 
or  else  find  service  in  another  house  than  Ockram 
Hall.  Bring  the  lamp  and  help  me  under  my 
left  arm." 

The  crutch-stick  clacked  on  the  wooden  floor, 
and  the  low  heels  of  the  woman's  slippers  clap- 
pered  after  her  in  slow  triplets,  as  Nurse  Mac 
donald  got  toward  the  door.  And  down  the  stairs 
each  step  she  took  was  a  labour  in  itself,  and  by 


14  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

the  clacking  noise  the  waking  servants  knew 
that  she  was  coming,  very  long  before  they  saw 
her. 

No  one  was  sleeping  now,  and  there  were  lights, 
and  whisperings,  and  pale  faces  in  the  corridors 
near  Sir  Hugh's  bedroom,  and  now  some  one 
went  in,  and  now  some  one  came  out,  but  every 
one  made  way  for  Nurse  Macdonald,  who  had 
nursed  Sir  Hugh's  father  more  than  eighty  years 
ago. 

The  light  was  soft  and  clear  in  the  room. 
There  stood  Gabriel  Ockram  by  his  father's  bed 
side,  and  there  knelt  Evelyn  Warburton,  her  hair 
lying  like  a  golden  shadow  down  her  shoulders, 
and  her  hands  clasped  nervously  together.  And 
opposite  Gabriel,  a  nurse  was  trying  to  make  Sir 
Hugh  drink.  But  he  would  not,  and  though  his 
lips  were  parted,  his  teeth  were  set.  He  was 
very,  very  thin  and  yellow  now,  and  his  eyes 
caught  the  light  sideways  and  were  as  yellow 
coals. 

"  Do  not  torment  him,"  said  Nurse  Macdonald 
to  the  woman  who  held  the  cup.  "  Let  me  speak 
to  him,  for  his  hour  is  come." 

"  Let  her  speak  to  him,"  said  Gabriel  in  a  dull 
voice. 

So  the  ancient  woman  leaned  to  the  pillow 
and  laid  the  feather-weight  of  her  withered  hand, 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  15 

that  was  like  a  brown  moth,  upon  Sir  Hugh's 
yellow  fingers,  and  she  spoke  to  him  earnestly, 
while  only  Gabriel  and  Evelyn  were  left  in  the 
room  to  hear. 

"  Hugh  Ockram,"  she  said,  "  this  is  the  end 
of  your  life;  and  as  I  saw  you  born,  and  saw 
your  father  born  before  you,  I  am  come  to  see 
you  die.  Hugh  Ockram,  will  you  tell  me  the 
truth?" 

The  dying  man  recognised  the  little  faraway 
voice  he  had  known  all  his  life,  and  he  very 
slowly  turned  his  yellow  face  to  Nurse  Mac- 
donald ;  but  he  said  nothing.  Then  she  spoke 
again. 

"  Hugh  Ockram,  you  will  never  see  the  daylight 
again.  Will  you  tell  the  truth  ?  " 

His  toad-like  eyes  were  not  yet  dull.  They 
fastened  themselves  on  her  face. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  he  asked,  and 
each  word  struck  hollow  upon  the  last.  "  I  have 
no  secrets.  I  have  lived  a  good  life." 

Nurse  Macdonald  laughed  —  a  tiny,  cracked 
laugh,  that  made  her  old  head  bob  and  tremble 
a  little,  as  if  her  neck  were  on  a  steel  spring. 
But  Sir  Hugh's  eyes  grew  red,  and  his  pale  lips 
began  to  twist. 

"  Let  me  die  in  peace,"  he  said  slowly. 

But  Nurse  Macdonald  shook  her  head,  and  her 


16  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

brown,  moth-like  hand  left  his  and  fluttered  to 
his  forehead. 

"  By  the  mother  that  bore  you  and  died  of 
grief  for  the  sins  you  did,  tell  me  the  truth  !  " 

Sir  Hugh's  lips  tightened  on  his  discoloured 
teeth. 

"  Not  on  earth,"  he  answered  slowly. 

"  By  the  wife  who  bore  your  son  and  died  heart 
broken,  tell  me  the  truth  !  " 

"  Neither  to  you  in  life,  nor  to  her  in  eternal 
death." 

His  lips  writhed,  as  if  the  words  wrere  coals 
between  them,  and  a  great  drop  of  sweat  rolled 
across  the  parchment  of  his  forehead.  Gabriel 
Ockram  bit  his  hand  as  he  watched  his  father 
die.  But  Nurse  Macdonald  spoke  a  third  time. 

"By  the  woman  whom  you  betrayed,  and  who 
waits  for  you  this  night,  Hugh  Ockram,  tell  me 
the  truth  ! " 

"  It  is  too  late.     Let  me  die  in  peace." 

The  writhing  lips  began  to  smile  across  the 
set  yellow  teeth,  and  the  toad  eyes  glowed  like 
evil  jewels  in  his  head. 

"  There  is  time,"  said  the  ancient  woman. 
"  Tell  me  the  name  of  Evelyn  Warburton's  father. 
Then  I  will  let  you  die  in  peace." 

Evelyn  started  back,  kneeling  as  she  was,  and 
stared  at  Nurse  Macdonald,  and  then  at  her  uncle. 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  17 

"  The  name  of  Evelyn's  father  ?  "  he  repeated 
slowly,  while  the  awful  smile  spread  upon  his 
dying  face. 

The  light  was  growing  strangely  dim  in  the 
great  room.  As  Evelyn  looked,  Nurse  Mac- 
donald's  crooked  shadow  on  the  wall  grew  gigan 
tic.  Sir  Hugh's  breath  came  thick,  rattling  in 
his  throat,  as  death  crept  in  like  a  snake  and  choked 
it  back.  Evelyn  prayed  aloud,  high  and  clear. 

Then  something  rapped  at  the  window,  and 
she  felt  her  hair  rise  upon  her  head  in  a  cool 
breeze,  as  she  looked  around  in  spite  of  herself. 
And  when  she  saw  her  own  white  face  looking 
in  at  the  window,  and  her  own  eyes  staring  at 
her  through  the  glass,  wide  and  fearful,  and  her 
own  hair  streaming  against  the  pane,  and  her 
own  lips  dashed  with  blood,  she  rose  slowly 
from  the  floor  and  stood  rigid  for  one  mo 
ment,  till  she  screamed  once  and  fell  straight 
back  into  Gabriel's  arms.  But  the  shriek  that 
answered  hers  was  the  fear-shriek  of  the  tor 
mented  corpse,  out  of  which  the  soul  cannot 
pass  for  shame  of  deadly  sins,  though  the  devils 
fight  in  it  with  corruption,  each  for  their  due  share. 

Sir  Hugh  Ockram  sat  upright  in  his  death 
bed,  and  saw  and  cried  aloud : 

"  Evelyn  !  "  His  harsh  voice  broke  and  rattled 
in  his  chest  as  he  sank  down.  But  still  Nurse 


18  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Macdonald  tortured  him,  for  there  was  a  little 
life  left  in  him  still. 

"  You  have  seen  the  mother  as  she  waits  for 
you,  Hugh  Ockram.  Who  was  this  girl  Evelyn's 
father  ?  What  was  his  name  ?  " 

For  the  last  time  the  dreadful  smile  came 
upon  the  twisted  lips,  very  slowly,  very  surely 
now,  and  the  toad  eyes  glared  red,  and  the 
parchment  face  glowed  a  little  in  the  flickering 
light.  For  the  last  time  words  came. 

"They  know  it  in  hell." 

Then  the  glowing  eyes  went  out  quickly, 
the  yellow  face  turned  waxen  pale,  and  a  great 
shiver  ran  through  the  thin  body  as  Hugh  Ock 
ram  died. 

But  in  death  he  still  smiled,  for  he  knew 
his  secret  and  kept  it  still,  on  the  other  side, 
and  he  would  take  it  with  him,  to  lie  with 
him  for  ever  in  the  north  vault  of  the  chapel 
where  the  Ockrams  lie  uncoffined  in  their  shrouds 
—  all  but  one.  Though  he  was  dead,  he  smiled, 
for  he  had  kept  his  treasure  of  evil  truth  to 
the  end,  and  there  was  none  left  to  tell  the 
name  he  had  spoken,  but  there  was  all  the  evil 
he  had  not  undone  left  to  bear  fruit. 

As  they  watched  —  Nurse  Macdonald  and 
Gabriel,  who  held  Evelyn  still  unconscious  in 
his  arms  while  he  looked  at  the  father  —  they 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  19 

felt  the  dead  smile  crawling  along  their  own 
lips  —  the  ancient  crone  and  the  youth  with 
the  angel's  face.  Then  they  shivered  a  little, 
and  both  looked  at  Evelyn  as  she  lay  with  her 
head  on  his  shoulder,  and,  though  she  was  very 
beautiful,  the  same  sickening  smile  was  twisting 
her  young  mouth  too,  and  it  was  like  the  fore 
shadowing  of  a  great  evil  which  they  could  not 
understand. 

But  by  and  by  they  carried  Evelyn  out,  and 
she  opened  her  eyes  and  the  smile  was  gone. 
From  far  away  in  the  great  house  the  sound 
of  weeping  and  crooning  came  up  the  stairs 
and  echoed  along  the  dismal  corridors,  for  the 
women  had  begun  to  mourn  the  dead  master, 
after  the  Irish  fashion,  and  the  hall  had  echoes 
of  its  own  all  that  night,  like  the  far-off  wail  of 
the  banshee  among  forest  trees. 

When  the  time  was  come  they  took  Sir  Hugh 
in  his  winding-sheet  on  a  trestle  bier,  and  bore 
him  to  the  chapel  and  through  the  iron  door 
and  down  the  long  descent  to  the  north  vault, 
with  tapers,  to  lay  him  by  his  father.  And 
two  men  went  in  first  to  prepare  the  place, 
and  came  back  staggering  like  drunken  men, 
and  white,  leaving  their  lights  behind  them. 

But  Gabriel  Ockram  was  not  afraid,  for  he 
knew.  And  he  went  in  alone  and  saw  that 


20  WANDERING   GHOSTS 

the  body  of  Sir  Yernon  Ockram  was  leaning 
upright  against  the  stone  wall,  and  that  its  head 
lay  on  the  ground  near  by  with  the  face  turned 
up,  and  the  dried  leathern  lips  smiled  horribly 
at  the  dried-up  corpse,  while  the  iron  coffin, 
lined  with  black  velvet,  stood  open  on  the  floor. 

Then  Gabriel  took  the  thing  in  his  hands, 
for  it  was  very  light,  being  quite  dried  by 
the  air  of  the  vault,  and  those  who  peeped  in 
from  the  door  saw  him  lay  it  in  the  coffin 
again,  and  it  rustled  a  little,  like  a  bundle  of 
reeds,  and  sounded  hollow  as  it  touched  the 
sides  and  the  bottom.  He  also  placed  the  head 
upon  the  shoulders  and  shut  down  the  lid,  which 
fell  to  with  a  rusty  spring  that  snapped. 

After  that  they  laid  Sir  Hugh  beside  his 
father,  with  the  trestle  bier  on  which  they  had 
brought  him,  and  they  went  back  to  the  chapel. 

But  when  they  saw  one  another's  faces, 
master  and  men,  they  were  all  smiling  with 
the  dead  smile  of  the  corpse  they  had  left  in 
the  vault,  so  that  they  could  not  bear  to  look 
at  one  another  until  it  had  faded  away. 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  21 


CHAPTER   III 

GABRIEL  OCKRAM  became  Sir  Gabriel,  inherit 
ing  the  baronetcy  with  the  half-ruined  fortune 
left  by  his  father,  and  still  Evelyn  War  burton 
lived  at  Ockram  Hall,  in  the  south  room  that 
had  been  hers  ever  since  she  could  remember 
anything.  She  could  not  go  away,  for  there 
were  no  relatives  to  whom  she  could  have  gone, 
and,  besides,  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why 
she  should  not  stay.  The  world  would  never 
trouble  itself  to  care  what  the  Ockrams  did  on 
their  Irish  estates,  and  it  was  long  since  the 
Ockrams  had  asked  anything  of  the  world. 

So  Sir  Gabriel  took  his  father's  place  at  the 
dark  old  table  in  the  dining-room,  and  Evelyn 
sat  opposite  to  him,  until  such  time  as  their 
mourning  should  be  over,  and  they  might  be 
married  at  last.  And  meanwhile  their  lives 
went  on  as  before,  since  Sir  Hugh  had  been  a 
hopeless  invalid  during  the  last  year  of  his  life, 
and  they  had  seen  him  but  once  a  day  for  a 
little  while,  spending  most  of  their  time  together 
in  a  strangely  perfect  companionship. 

But  though  the  late  summer  saddened  into 
autumn,  and  autumn  darkened  into  winter,  and 
storm  followed  storm,  and  rain  poured  on  rain 


22  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

through  the  short  days  and  the  long  nights,  yet 
Ockram  Hall  seemed  less  gloomy  since  Sir  Hugh 
had  been  laid  in  the  north  vault  beside  his  father. 
And  at  Christmastide  Evelyn  decked  the  great  hall 
with  holly  and  green  boughs,  and  huge  fires  blazed 
on  every  hearth.  Then  the  tenants  were  all  bid 
den  to  a  New  Year's  dinner,  and  they  ate  and 
drank  well,  while  Sir  Gabriel  sat  at  the  head 
of  the  table.  Evelyn  came  in  when  the  port 
wine  was  brought,  and  the  most  respected  of 
the  tenants  made  a  speech  to  propose  her  health. 

It  was  long,  he  said,  since  there  had  been  a 
Lady  Ockram.  Sir  Gabriel  shaded  his  eyes  with 
his  hand  and  looked  down  at  the  table,  but  a 
faint  colour  came  into  Evelyn's  transparent  cheeks. 
But,  said  the  grey-haired  farmer,  it  was  longer 
still  since  there  had  been  a  Lady  Ockram  so  fair 
as  the  next  was  to  be,  and  he  gave  the  health  of 
Evelyn  Warburton. 

Then  the  tenants  all  stood  up  and  shouted 
for  her,  and  Sir  Gabriel  stood  up  likewise,  be 
side  Evelyn.  And  when  the  men  gave  the  last 
and  loudest  cheer  of  all  there  was  a  voice  not 
theirs,  above  them  all,  higher,  fiercer,  louder  — 
a  scream  not  earthly,  shrieking  for  the  bride  of 
Ockram  Hall.  And  the  holly  and  the  green 
boughs  over  the  great  chimney-piece  shook  and 
slowly  waved  as  if  a  cool  breeze  were  blowing 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  23 

over  them.  But  the  men  turned  very  pale,  and 
many  of  them  set  down  their  glasses,  but  others 
let  them  fall  upon  the  floor  for  fear.  And  look 
ing  into  one  another's  faces,  they  were  all  smil 
ing  strangely,  a  dead  smile,  like  dead  Sir  Hugh's. 
One  cried  out  words  in  Irish,  and  the  fear  of  death 
was  suddenly  upon  them  all,  so  that  they  fled  in 
panic,  falling  over  one  another  like  wild  beasts 
in  the  burning  forest,  when  the  thick  smoke  runs 
along  before  the  flame ;  and  the  tables  were  over 
set,  and  drinking  glasses  and  bottles  were  broken 
in  heaps,  and  the  dark  red  wine  crawled  like  blood 
upon  the  polished  floor. 

Sir  Gabriel  and  Evelyn  stood  alone  at  the 
head  of  the  table  before  the  wreck  of  the  feast, 
not  daring  to  turn  to  see  each  other,  for  each 
knew  that  the  other  smiled.  But  his  right  arm 
held  her  and  his  left  hand  clasped  her  right  as 
they  stared  before  them;  and  but  for  the  shad 
ows  of  her  hair  one  might  not  have  told  their  two 
faces  apart.  They  listened  long,  but  the  cry  came 
not  again,  and  the  dead  smile  faded  from  their  lips, 
while  each  remembered  that  Sir  Hugh  Ockram  lay 
in  the  north  vault,  smiling  in  his  winding-sheet,  in 
the  dark,  because  he  had  died  with  his  secret. 

So  ended  the  tenants'  New  Year's  dinner.  But 
from  that  time  on  Sir  Gabriel  grew  more  and 
more  silent,  and  his  face  grew  even  paler  and 


24  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

thinner  than  before.  Often,  without  warning 
and  without  words,  he  would  rise  from  his  seat, 
as  if  something  moved  him  against  his  will,  and 
he  would  go  out  into  the  rain  or  the  sunshine  to 
the  north  side  of  the  chapel,  and  sit  on  the  stone 
bench,  staring  at  the  ground  as  if  he  could  see 
through  it,  and  through  the  vault  below,  and 
through  the  white  winding-sheet  in  the  dark,  to 
the  dead  smile  that  would  not  die. 

Always  when  he  went  out  in  that  way  Evelyn 
came  out  presently  and  sat  beside  him.  Once,  too, 
as  in  summer,  their  beautiful  faces  came  suddenly 
near,  and  their  lids  drooped,  and  their  red  lips 
were  almost  joined  together.  But  as  their  eyes 
met,  they  grew  wide  and  wild,  so  that  the  white 
showed  in  a  ring  all  round  the  deep  violet,  and 
their  teeth  chattered,  and  their  hands  were  like 
hands  of  corpses,  each  in  the  other's,  for  the 
terror  of  what  was  under  their  feet,  and  of  what 
they  knew  but  could  not  see. 

Once,  also,  Evelyn  found  Sir  Gabriel  in  the 
chapel  alone,  standing  before  the  iron  door  that 
led  down  to  the  place  of  death,  and  in  his  hand 
there  was  the  key  to  the  door ;  but  he  had  not  put 
it  into  the  lock.  Evelyn  drew  him  away,  shiver 
ing,  for  she  had  also  been  driven  in  waking  dreams 
to  see  that  terrible  thing  again,  and  to  find  out 
whether  it  had  changed  since  it  had  lain  there. 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  25 

"  I'm  going  mad,"  said  Sir  Gabriel,  covering 
his  eyes  with  his  hand  as  he  went  witli  her. 
"  I  see  it  in  my  sleep,  I  see  it  when  I  am  awake 
—  it  draws  me  to  it,  day  and  night  —  and  unless 
I  see  it  I  shall  die  !  " 

"  I  know/'  answered  Evelyn,  "  I  know.  It 
is  as  if  threads  were  spun  from  it,  like  a  spi 
der's,  drawing  us  down  to  it."  She  was  silent 
for  a  moment,  and  then  she  started  violently 
and  grasped  his  arm  with  a  man's  strength,  and 
almost  screamed  the  words  she  spoke.  "  But  we 
must  not  go  there  ! "  she  cried.  "  We  must  not 
go!" 

Sir  Gabriel's  eyes  were  half  shut,  and  he  was 
not  moved  by  the  agony  of  her  face. 

"  I  shall  die,  unless  I  see  it  again,"  he  said,  in  a 
quiet  voice  not  like  his  own.  And  all  that  day 
and  that  evening  he  scarcely  spoke,  thinking  of  it, 
always  thinking,  while  Evelyn  Warburton  quivered 
from  head  to  foot  with  a  terror  she  had  never 
known. 

She  went  alone,  on  a  grey  winter's  morning,  to 
Nurse  Macdonald's  room  in  the  tower,  and  sat 
down  beside  the  great  leathern  easy-chair,  laying 
her  thin  white  hand  upon  the  withered  fingers. 

"Nurse,"  she  said,  "what  was  it  that  Uncle 
Hugh  should  have  told  you,  that  night  before 
he  died  ?  It  must  have  been  an  awful  secret  — 


26  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

and  yet,  though  you  asked  him,  I  feel  somehow 
that  you  know  it,  and  that  you  know  why  he  used 
to  smile  so  dreadfully." 

The  old  woman's  head  moved  slowly  from  side 
to  side. 

"  I  only  guess  —  I  shall  never  know,"  she  an 
swered  slowly  in  her  cracked  little  voice. 

"  But  what  do  you  guess  ?  Who  am  I  ?  Why 
did  you  ask  who  my  father  was?  You  know 
I  am  Colonel  Warburton's  daughter,  and  my 
mother  was  Lady  Ockram's  sister,  so  that  Gabriel 
and  I  are  cousins.  My  father  was  killed  in 
Afghanistan.  What  secret  can  there  be?" 

"  I  do  not  know.     I  can  only  guess." 

"  Guess  what  ?  "  asked  Evelyn  imploringly,  and 
pressing  the  soft  withered  hands,  as  she  leaned  for 
ward.  But  Nurse  Macdonald's  wrinkled  lids  dropped 
suddenly  over  her  queer  blue  eyes,  and  her  lips 
shook  a  little  with  her  breath,  as  if  she  were  asleep. 

Evelyn  waited.  By  the  fire  the  Irish  maid  was 
knitting  fast,  and  the  needles  clicked  like  three  or 
four  clocks  ticking  against  each  other.  And  the 
real  clock  on  the  wall  solemnly  ticked  alone,  check 
ing  off  the  seconds  of  the  woman  who  was  a  hun 
dred  years  old,  and  had  not  many  days  left. 
Outside  the  ivy  branch  beat  the  window  in  the 
wintry  blast,  as  it  had  beaten  against  the  glass  a 
hundred  years  ago. 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  27 

Then  as  Evelyn  sat  there  she  felt  again  the  wak 
ing  of  a  horrible  desire  -  -  the  sickening  wish  to 
go  down,  down  to  the  thing  in  the  north  vault, 
and  to  open  the  winding-sheet,  and  see  whether 
it  had  changed;  and  she  held  Nurse  Macdonald's 
hands  as  if  to  keep  herself  in  her  place  and  fight 
against  the  appalling  attraction  of  the  evil  dead. 

But  the  old  cat  that  kept  Nurse  Macdonald's 
feet  warm,  lying  always  on  the  bag  footstool, 
got  up  and  stretched  itself,  and  looked  up  into 
Evelyn's  eyes,  while  its  back  arched,  and  its  tail 
thickened  and  bristled,  and  its  ugly  pink  lips 
drew  back  in  a  devilish  grin,  showing  its  sharp 
teeth.  Evelyn  stared  at  it,  half  fascinated  by 
its  ugliness.  Then  the  creature  suddenly  put 
out  one  paw  with  all  its  claws  spread,  and 
spat  at  the  girl,  and  all  at  once  the  grinning 
cat  was  like  the  smiling  corpse  far  down  below, 
so  that  Evelyn  shivered  down  to  her  small  feet, 
and  covered  her  face  with  her  free  hand,  lest 
Nurse  Macdonald  should  wake  and  see  the  dead 
smile  there,  for  she  could  feel  it. 

The  old  woman  had  already  opened  her  eyes 
again,  and  she  touched  her  cat  with  the  end  of 
her  crutch-stick,  whereupon  its  back  went  down 
and  its  tail  shrunk,  and  it  sidled  back  to  its  place 
on  the  bag  footstool.  But  its  yellow  eyes  looked 
up  sideways  at  Evelyn,  between  the  slits  of  its  lids. 


28  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"What  is  it  that  you  guess,  nurse?"  asked 
the  young  girl  again. 

"A  bad  thing  —  a  wicked  thing.  But  I  dare 
not  tell  you,  lest  it  might  not  be  true,  and  the 
very  thought  should  blast  your  life.  For  if  I 
guess  right,  he  meant  that  you  should  not  know, 
and  that  you  two  should  marry,  and  pay  for  his 
old  sin  with  your  souls." 

"He  used  to  tell  us  that  we  ought  not  to 
marry  - 

"  Yes  —  he  told  you  that,  perhaps --but  it  was 
as  if  a  man  put  poisoned  meat  before  a  starving 
beast,  and  said  *  do  not  eat/  but  never  raised 
his  hand  to  take  the  meat  away.  And  if  he 
told  you  that  you  should  not  marry,  it  was  be 
cause  he  hoped  you  would;  for  of  all  men  liv 
ing  or  dead,  Hugh  Ockram  was  the  falsest  man 
that  ever  told  a  cowardly  lie,  and  the  cruelest  that 
ever  hurt  a  weak  woman,  and  the  worst  that  ever 
loved  a  sin." 

"  But  Gabriel  and  I  love  each  other,"  said 
Evelyn  very  sadly. 

Nurse  Macdonald's  old  eyes  looked  far  away, 
at  sights  seen  long  ago,  and  that  rose  in  the 
grey  winter  air  amid  the  mists  of  an  ancient 
youth. 

"  If  you  love,  you  can  die  together,"  she  said, 
very  slowly.  "  Why  should  you  live,  if  it  is' 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  29 

true?  I  am  a  hundred  years  old.  What  has 
life  given  me  ?  The  beginning  is  fire ;  the  end 
is  a  heap  of  ashes ;  and  between  the  end  and 
the  beginning  lies  all  the  pain  of  the  world. 
Let  me  sleep,  since  I  cannot  die." 

Then  the  old  woman's  eyes  closed  again,  and 
her  head  sank  a  little  lower  upon  her  breast. 

So  Evelyn  went  away  and  left  her  asleep, 
with  the  cat  asleep  on  the  bag  footstool ;  and 
the  young  girl  tried  to  forget  Nurse  Macdonald's 
words,  but  she  could  not,  for  she  heard  them 
over  and  over  again  in  the  wind,  and  behind 
her  on  the  stairs.  And  as  she  grew  sick  with 
fear  of  the  frightful  unknown  evil  to  which  her 
soul  was  bound,  she  felt  a  bodily  something 
pressing  her,  and  pushing  her,  and  forcing  her 
on,  and  from  the  other  side  she  felt  the  threads 
that  drew  her  mysteriously  :  and  when  she  shut 
her  eyes,  she  saw  in  the  chapel  behind  the  altar, 
the  low  iron  door  through  which  she  must  pass 
to  go  to  the  thing. 

And  as  she  lay  awake  at  night,  she  drew  the 
sheet  over  her  face,  lest  she  should  see  shadows 
on  the  wall  beckoning  to  her;  and  the  sound  of 
her  own  warm  breath  made  whisperings  in  her 
ears,  while  she  heM  the  mattress  with  her  hands, 
to  keep  from  getting  up  and  going  to  the  chapel. 
It  would  have  been  easier  if  there  had  not  been 


30  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

a  way  thither  through  the  library,  by  a  door  which 
was  never  locked.  It  would  be  fearfully  easy  to 
take  her  candle  and  go  softly  through  the  sleep 
ing  house.  And  the  key  of  the  vault  lay  under 
the  altar  behind  a  stone  that  turned.  She  knew 
the  little  secret.  She  could  go  alone  and  see. 

But  when  she  thought  of  it,  she  felt  her  hair 
rise  on  her  head,  and  first  she  shivered  so  that 
the  bed  shook,  and  then  the  horror  went  through 
her  in  a  cold  thrill  that  was  agony  again,  like 
myriads  of  icy  needles  boring  into  her  nerves. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  old  clock  in  Nurse  Macdonald's  tower  struck 
midnight.  From  her  room  she  could  hear  the 
creaking  chains  and  weights  in  their  box  in  the 
corner  of  the  staircase,  and  overhead  the  jarring 
of  the  rusty  lever  that  lifted  the  hammer.  She 
had  heard  it  all  her  life.  It  struck  eleven  strokes 
clearly,  and  then  came  the  twelfth,  with  a  dull 
half  stroke,  as  though  the  hammer  were  too  weary 
to  go  on,  and  had  fallen  asleep  against  the  bell. 
The  old  cat  got  up  from  the  bag  footstool 
and  stretched  itself,  and  Nurse  Macdonald  opened 
her  ancient  eyes  and  looked  slowly  round  the 


r  THE  DEAD  SMILE  31 

room  by  the  dim  light  of  the  night  lamp.  She 
touched  the  cat  with  her  crutch-stick,  an  1  it  lay 
down  upon  her  feet.  She  drank  a  fe\  drops 
from  her  cup  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

But  downstairs  rir  Gabriel  sat  straight  up  as 
the  clock  struck,  for  he  had  dreamed  a  fearful 
dream  of  horror,  and  his  heart  stood  still,  till  he 
awoke  at  its  stopping,  and  it  beat  again  furiously 
with  his  breath,  like  a  wild  thing  set  free.  No 
Ockram  had  ever  known  fear  waking,  but  some 
times  it  came  to  Sir  Gabriel  in  his  sleep. 

He  pressed  his  hands  to  his  temples  as  he  sat  up 
in  bed,  and  his  hands  were  icy  cold,  but  his  head 
was  hot.  The  dream  faded  far,  and  in  its  place 
there  came  the  master  thought  that  racked  his  life  ; 
with  the  thought  also  came  the  sick  twisting  of  his 
lips  in  the  dark  that  would  have  been  a  smile. 
Far  off,  Evelyn  Warburton  dreamed  that  the  dead 
smile  was  on  her  mouth,  and  awoke,  starting  with 
a  little  moan,  her  face  in  her  hands,  shivering. 

But  Sir  Gabriel  struck  a  light  and  got  up  and 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  his  great  room.  It 
was  midnight,  and  he  had  barely  slept  an  hour, 
and  in  the  north  of  Ireland  the  winter  nights  are 
long. 

"I  shall  go  mad,"  he  said  to  himself,  holding  his 
forehead.  He  knew  that  it  was  true.  For  weeks 
and  months  the  possession  of  the  thing  had  grown 


32  WANDERING  GHOSTS* 

upon  him  like  a  disease,  till  he  could  think  of 
nothing  without  thinking  first  of  that.  And  now 
all  at  once  it  outgrew  his  strength,  and  he  knew 
that  he  must  be  its  instrument  or  lose  his  mind  — 
that  he  must  do  tha  deed  he  hated  and  feared,  if 
he  could  fear  anything,  or  that  something  would 
snap  in  his  brain  and  divide  him  from  life  while  he 
was  yet  alive.  He  took  the  candlestick  in  his 
hand,  the  old-fashioned  heavy  candlestick  that  had 
always  been  used  by  the  head  of  the  house.  He 
did  not  think  of  dressing,  but  went  as  he  was,  in 
his  silk  night  clothes  and  his  slippers,  and  he 
opened  the  door.  Everything  was  very  still  in  the 
great  old  house.  He  shut  the  door  behind  him  and 
walked  noiselessly  on  the  carpet  through  the  long 
corridor.  A  cool  breeze  blew  over  his  shoulder  and 
blew  the  flame  of  his  candle  straight  out  from  him. 
Instinctively  he  stopped  and  looked  round,  but  all 
was  still,  and  the  upright  flame  burned  steadily. 
He  walked  on.  and  instantly  a  strong  draught  was 
behind  him,  almost  extinguishing  the  light.  It 
seemed  to  blow  him  on  his  way,  ceasing  whenever 
he  turned,  coming  again  when  he  went  on — in 
visible,  icy. 

Down  the  great  staircase  to  the  echoing  hall  he 
went,  seeing  nothing  but  the  flaring  flame  of  the 
candle  standing  away  from  him  over  the  guttering 
wax,  while  the  cold  wind  blew  over  his  shoulder 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  33 

and  through  his  hair.  On  he  passed  through  the 
open  door  into  the  library,  dark  with  old  books  and 
carved  bookcases;  on  through  the  door  in  the 
shelves,  with  painted  shelves  on  it,  and  the  imitated 
backs  of  books,  so  that  one  needed  to  know  where 
to  find  it — and  it  shut  itself  after  him  with  a  soft 
click.  He  entered  the  low-arched  passage,  and 
though  the  door  was  shut  behind  him  and  fitted 
tightly  in  its  frame,  still  the  cold  breeze  blew  the 
flame  forward  as  he  walked.  And  he  was  not 
afraid ;  but  his  face  was  very  pale,  and  his  eyes 
were  wide  and  bright,  looking  before  him,  seeing 
already  in  the  dark  air  the  picture  of  the  thing  be 
yond.  But  in  the  chapel  he  stood  still,  his  hand 
on  the  little  turning  stone  tablet  in  the  back  of  the 
stone  altar.  On  the  tablet  were  engraved  words: 
"  Clavis  sepulchri  Clarisximorum  Dominorum  DC 
Ockram  "  —  ("  the  key  to  the  vault  of  the  most  illus 
trious  lords  of  Ockram").  Sir  Gabriel  paused  and 
listened.  He  fancied  that  he  heard  a  sound  far  off 
in  the  great  house  where  all  had  been  so  still,  but 
it  did  not  come  again.  Yet  he  waited  at  the  last, 
and  looked  at  the  low  iron  door.  Beyond  it,  down 
the  long  descent,  lay  his  father  uncoffined,  six 
months  dead,  corrupt,  terrible  in  his  clinging 
shroud.  The  strangely  preserving  air  of  the  vault 
could  not  yet  have  done  its  work  completely.  But 
on  the  thing's  ghastly  features,  with  their  half- 


34  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

dried,  open  eyes,  there  would  still  be  the  frightful 
smile  with  which  the  man  had  died  —  the  smile 
that  haunted  - 

As  the  thought  crossed  Sir  Gabriel's  mind,  he 
felt  his  lips  writhing,  and  he  struck  his  own  mouth 
in  wrath  with  the  back  of  his  hand  so  fiercely  that 
a  drop  of  blood  ran  down  his  chin,  and  another, 
and  more,  falling  back  in  the  gloom  upon  the 
chapel  pavement.  But  still  his  bruised  lips  twisted 
themselves.  He  turned  the  tablet  by  the  simple 
secret.  It  needed  no  safer  fastening,  for  had  each 
Ockram  been  coffined  in  pure  gold,  and  had  the 
door  been  open  wide,  there  was  not  a  man  in  Ty 
rone  brave  enough  to  go  down  to  that  place,  saving 
Gabriel  Ockram  himself,  with  his  angel's  face  and 
his  thin,  white  hands,  and  his  sad  unflinching  eyes. 
He  took  the  great  old  key  and  set  it  into  the  lock 
of  the  iron  door ;  and  the  heavy,  rattling  noise 
echoed  down  the  descent  beyond  like  footsteps,  as 
if  a  watcher  had  stood  behind  the  iron  and  were 
running  away  within,  with  heavy  dead  feet.  And 
though  he  was  standing  still,  the  cool  wind  was 
from  behind  him,  and  blew  the  flame  of  the  candle 
against  the  iron  panel.  He  turned  the  key. 

Sir  Gabriel  saw  that  his  candle  was  short.  There 
were  new  ones  on  the  altar,  with  long  candlesticks, 
and  he  lit  one,  and  left  his  own  burning  on  the 
floor.  As  he  set  it  down  on  the  pavement  his  lip 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  35 

began  to  bleed  again,  and  another  drop  fell  upon 
the  stones. 

He  drew  the  iron  door  open  and  pushed  it  back 
against  the  chapel  wall,  so  that  it  should  not  shut 
of  itself,  while  he  was  within  ;  and  the  horrible 
draught  of  the  sepulchre  came  up  out  of  the  depths 
in  his  face,  foul  and  dark.  He  went  in,  but  though 
the  fetid  air  met  him,  yet  the  flame  of  the  tall 
candle  was  blown  straight  from  him  against  the 
wind  while  he  walked  down  the  easy  incline  with 
steady  steps,  his  loose  slippers  slapping  the  pave 
ment  as  he  trod. 

He  shaded  the  candle  with  his  hand,  and  his 
fingers  seemed  to  be  made  of  wax  and  blood  as  the 
light  shone  through  them.  And  in  spite  of  him 
the  unearthly  draught  forced  the  flame  forward, 
till  it  was  blue  over  the  black  wick,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  it  must  go  out.  But  he  went  straight  on,  with 
shining  eyes. 

The  downward  passage  was  wide,  and  he  could 
not  always  see  the  walls  by  the  struggling  light, 
but  he  knew  when  he  was  in  the  place  of  death  by 
the  larger,  drearier  echo  of  his  steps  in  the  greater 
space,  and  by  the  sensation  of  a  distant  blank  wall. 
He  stood  still,  almost  enclosing  the  flame  of  the 
candle  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  He  could  see  a 
little,  for  his  eyes  were  growing  used  to  the  gloom. 
Shadowy  forms  wrere  outlined  in  the  dimness,  where 


36  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

the  biers  of  the  Ockrams  stood  crowded  together, 
side  by  side,  each  with  its  straight,  shrouded  corpse, 
strangely  preserved  by  the  dry  air,  like  the  empty 
shell  that  the  locust  sheds  in  summer.  And  a  few 
steps  before  him  he  saw  clearly  the  dark  shape  of 
headless  Sir  Vernon's  iron  coffin,  and  he  knew  that 
nearest  to  it  lay  the  thing  he  sought. 

He  was  as  brave  as  any  of  those  dead  men  had 
been,  and  they  were  his  fathers,  and  he  knew  that 
sooner  or  later  he  should  lie  there  himself,  beside 
Sir  Hugh,  slowly  drying  to  a  parchment  shell.  But 
he  was  still  alive,  and  he  closed  his  eyes  a  moment, 
and  three  great  drops  stood  on  his  forehead. 

Then  he  looked  again,  and  by  the  whiteness  of 
the  winding-sheet  he  knew  his  father's  corpse,  for 
all  the  others  were  brown  with  age  ;  and,  moreover, 
the  flame  of  the  candle  was  blown  toward  it.  He 
made  four  steps  till  he  reached  it,  and  suddenly  the 
light  burned  straight  and  high,  shedding  a  dazzling 
yellow  glare  upon  the  fine  linen  that  was  all  white, 
save  over  the  face,  and  where  the  joined  hands 
were  laid  on  the  breast.  And  at  those  places  ugly 
stains  had  spread,  darkened  with  outlines  of  the 
features  and  of  the  tight-clasped  fingers.  There 
was  a  frightful  stench  of  drying  death. 

As  Sir  Gabriel  looked  down,  something  stirred 
behind  him,  softly  at  first,  then  more  noisily,  and 
something  fell  to  the  stone  floor  with  a  dull  thud 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  37 

and  rolled  up  to  his  feet ;  he  started  back  and  saw 
a  withered  head  lying  almost  face  upward  on  the 
pavement,  grinning  at  him.  He  felt  the  cold 
sweat  standing  on  his  face,  and  his  heart  beat  pain 
fully. 

For  the  first  time  in  all  his  life  that  evil  thing 
which  men  call  fear  was  getting  hold  of  him, 
checking  his  heart-strings  as  a  cruel  driver  checks 
a  quivering  horse,  clawing  at  his  backbone  with 
icy  hands,  lifting  his  hair  with  freezing  breath, 
climbing  up  and  gathering  in  his  midriff  with 
leaden  weight. 

Yet  presently  he  bit  his  lip  and  bent  down,  hold 
ing  the  candle  in  one  hand,  to  lift  the  shroud  back 
from  the  head  of  the  corpse  with  the  other.  Slowly 
he  lifted  it.  Then  it  clove  to  the  half-dried  skin 
of  the  face,  and  his  hand  shook  as  if  some  one  had 
struck  him  on  the  elbow,  but  half  in  fear  and  half 
in  anger  at  himself,  he  pulled  it,  so  that  it  came 
away  with  a  little  ripping  sound.  He  caught  his 
breath  as  he  held  it,  not  yet  throwing  it  back,  and 
not  yet  looking.  The  horror  was  working  in  him, 
and  he  felt  that  old  Vernon  Ockram  was  standing 
up  in  his  iron  coffin,  headless,  yet  watching  him 
with  the  stump  of  his  severed  neck. 

While  he  held  his  breath  he  felt  the  dead  smile 
twisting  his  lips.  In  sudden  wrath  at  his  own 
misery,  he  tossed  the  death-stained  linen  backward, 


38  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

and  looked  at  last.  He  ground  his  teeth  lest  he 
should  shriek  aloud. 

There  it  was,  the  thing  that  haunted  him,  that 
haunted  Evelyn  Warburton,  that  was  like  a  blight 
on  all  that  came  near  him. 

The  dead  face  was  blotched  with  dark  stains, 
and  the  thin,  grey  hair  was  matted  about  the  dis 
coloured  forehead.  The  sunken  lids  were  half 
open,  and  the  candle  light  gleamed  on  something 
foul  where  the  toad  eyes  had  lived. 

But  yet  the  dead  thing  smiled,  as  it  had  smiled 
in  life;  the  ghastly  lips  were  parted  and  drawn 
wide  and  tight  upon  the  wolfish  teeth,  cursing  still, 
and  still  defying  hell  to  do  its  worst  —  defying, 
cursing,  and  always  and  for  ever  smiling  alone  in 
the  dark. 

Sir  Gabriel  opened  the  winding-sheet  where  the 
hands  were,  and  the  blackened,  withered  fingers 
were  closed  upon  something  stained  and  mottled. 
Shivering  from  head  to  foot,  but  fighting  like  a 
man  in  agony  for  his  life,  he  tried  to  take  the 
package  from  the  dead  man's  hold.  But  as  he 
pulled  at  it  the  claw-like  fingers  seemed  to  close 
more  tightly,  and  when  he  pulled  harder  the 
shrunken  hands  and  arms  rose  from  the  corpse  with 
a  horrible  look  of  life  following  his  motion  —  then 
as  he  wrenched  the  sealed  packet  loose  at  last,  the 
hands  fell  back  into  their  place  still  folded. 


THE  DEAD  SMILE  39 

He  set  down  the  candle  on  the  edge  of  the  bier 
to  break  the  seals  from  the  stout  paper.  And, 
kneeling  on  one  knee,  to  get  a  better  light,  he  read 
what  was  within,  written  long  ago  in  Sir  Hugh's 
queer  hand. 

He  was  no  longer  afraid. 

He  read  how  Sir  Hugh  had  written  it  all  down 
that  it  might  perchance  be  a  witness  of  evil  and  of 
his  hatred ;  how  he  had  loved  Evelyn  Warburton, 
his  wife's  sister ;  and  how  his  wife  had  died  of  a 
broken  heart  with  his  curse  upon  her,  and  how 
Warburton  and  he  had  fought  side  by  side  in 
Afghanistan,  and  Warburton  had  fallen  ;  but  Ock- 
ram  had  brought  his  comrade's  wife  back  a  full 
year  later,  and  little  Evelyn,  her  child,  had  been 
born  in  Ockram  Hall.  And  next,  how  he  had 
wearied  of  the  mother,  and  she  had  died  like  her 
sister  with  his  curse  on  her.  And  then,  how 
Evelyn  had  been  brought  up  as  his  niece,  and  how 
he  had  trusted  that  his  son  Gabriel  and  his  daugh 
ter,  innocent  and  unknowing,  might  love  and 
marry,  and  the  souls  of  the  women  he  had  betrayed 
might  suffer  another  anguish  before  eternity  was 
out.  And,  last  of  all,  he  hoped  that  some  day, 
when  nothing  could  be  undone,  the  two  might  find 
his  writing  and  live  on,  not  daring  to  tell  the  truth 
for  their  children's  sake  and  the  world's  word,  man 
and  wife. 


40  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

This  he  read,  kneeling  beside  the  corpse  in  the 
north  vault,  by  the  light  of  the  altar  candle ;  and 
when  he  had  read  it  all,  he  thanked  God  aloud 
that  he  had  found  the  secret  in  time.  But  when 
he  rose  to  his  feet  and  looked  down  at  the  dead 
face  it  was  changed,  and  the  smile  wras  gone  from 
it  for  ever,  and  the  jaw  had  fallen  a  little,  and  the 
tired,  dead  lips  were  relaxed.  And  then  there  was 
a  breath  behind  him  and  close  to  him,  not  cold  like 
that  which  had  blown  the  flame  of  the  candle  as 
he  came,  but  warm  and  human.  He  turned  sud 
denly. 

There  she  stood,  all  in  white,  with  her  shadowy 
golden  hair  —  for  she  had  risen  from  her  bed  and 
had  followed  him  noiselessly,  and  had  found  him 
reading,  and  had  herself  read  over  his  shoulder. 
He  started  violently  when  he  saw  her,  for  his 
nerves  were  unstrung  —  and  then  he  cried  out  her 
name  in  the  still  place  of  death : 

"  Evelyn ! " 

"My  brother!"  she  answered  softly  and  ten 
derly,  putting  out  both  hands  to  meet  his. 


THE   SCREAMING  SKULL 


THE   SCREAMING   SKULL 

I  HAVE  often  heard  it  scream.  No,  I  am  not  ner 
vous,  I  am  not  imaginative,  and  I  never  believed 
in  ghosts,  unless  that  thing  is  one.  Whatever  it 
is,  it  hates  me  almost  as  much  as  it  hated  Luke 
Pratt,  and  it  screams  at  me. 

If  I  were  you,  I  would  never  tell  ugly  stories 
about  ingenious  ways  of  killing  people,  for  you 
never  can  tell  but  that  some  one  at  the  table  may 
be  tired  of  his  or  her  nearest  and  dearest.  I  have 
always  blamed  myself  for  Mrs.  Pratt's  death,  and  I 
suppose  I  was  responsible  for  it  in  a  way,  though 
heaven  knows  I  never  wished  her  anything  but 
long  life  and  happiness.  If  I  had  not  told  that 
story  she  might  be  alive  yet.  That  is  why  the 
thing  screams  at  me,  I  fancy. 

She  was  a  good  little  wroman,  with  a  sweet  tem 
per,  all  things  considered,  and  a  nice  gentle  voice ; 
but  I  remember  hearing  her  shriek  once  when  she 
thought  her  little  boy  was  killed  by  a  pistol  that 
went  off,  though  every  one  was  sure  that  it  was 
not  loaded.  It  was  the  same  scream  ;  exactly  the 

43 


44  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

same,  with  a  sort  of  rising  quaver  at  the  end ;  do 
you  know  what  I  mean  ?  Unmistakable. 

The  truth  is,  I  had  not  realised  that  the  doctor 
and  his  wife  were  not  on  good  terms.  They  used  to 
bicker  a  bit  now  and  then  when  I  was  here,  and  I 
often  noticed  that  little  Mrs.  Pratt  got  very  red  and 
bit  her  lip  hard  to  keep  her  temper,  while  Luke 
grew  pale  and  said  the  most  offensive  things.  He 
was  that  sort  when  he  was  in  the  nursery,  I  re 
member,  and  afterward  at  school.  He  was  my 
cousin,  you  know;  that  is  how  I  came  by  this 
house ;  after  he  died,  and  his  boy  Charley  was 
killed  in  South  Africa,  there  were  no  relations 
left.  Yes,  it's  a  pretty  little  property,  just  the 
sort  of  thing  for  an  old  sailor  like  me  who  has 
taken  to  gardening. 

One  always  remembers  one's  mistakes  much 
more  vividly  than  one's  cleverest  things,  doesn't 
one?  I've  often  noticed  it.  I  was  dining  with 
the  Pratts  one  night,  when  I  told  them  the  story 
that  afterwards  made  so  much  difference.  It  was 
a  wet  night  in  November,  and  the  sea  was  moan 
ing.  Hush  !  —  if  you  don't  speak  you  will  hear  it 
now.  .  .  . 

Do  you  hear  the  tide  ?  Gloomy  sound,  isn't  it  ? 
Sometimes,  about  this  time  of  year  —  hallo !  — 
there  it  is  !  Don't  be  frightened,  man  —  it  won't 
eat  you  —  it's  only  a  noise,  after  all !  But  I'm 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  45 

glad  you've  heard  it,  because  there  are  always  peo 
ple  who  think  it's  the  wind,  or  my  imagination,  or 
something.  You  won't  hear  it  again  to-night,  I 
fancy,  for  it  doesn't  often  come  more  than  once. 
Yes  —  that's  right.  Put  another  stick  on  the  fire, 
and  a  little  more  stuff  into  that  weak  mixture 
you're  so  fond  of.  Do  you  remember  old  Blauklot 
the  carpenter,  on  that  German  ship  that  picked  us 
up  when  the  Clontarf  vrent  to  the  bottom?  We 
were  hove  to  in  a  howling  gale  one  night,  as  snug 
as  you  please,  with  no  land  within  five  hundred 
miles,  and  the  ship  coming  up  and  falling  off  as 
regularly  as  clockwork  — "  Biddy  te  boor  beebles 
ashore  tis  night,  poys !  "  old  Blauklot  sang  out,  as 
he  went  off  to  his  quarters  with  the  sail-maker. 
I  often  think  of  that,  now  that  I'm  ashore  for  good 
and  all. 

Yes,  it  was  on  a  night  like  this,  when  I  was  at 
home  for  a  spell,  waiting  to  take  the  Olympia  out 
on  her  first  trip  —  it  was  on  the  next  voyage  that 
she  broke  the  record,  you  remember  —  but  that 
dates  it.  Ninety-two  was  the  year,  early  in  No 
vember. 

The  weather  was  dirty,  Pratt  was  out  of  temper, 
and  the  dinner  was  bad,  very  bad  indeed,  which 
didn't  improve  matters,  and  cold,  which  made  it 
worse.  The  poor  little  lady  was  very  unhappy 
about  it,  and  insisted  on  making  a  Welsh  rarebit 


46  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

on  the  table  to  counteract  the  raw  turnips  and  the 
half-boiled  mutton.  Pratt  must  have  had  a  hard 
day.  Perhaps  he  had  lost  a  patient.  At  all 
events,  he  was  in  a  nasty  temper. 

"  My  wife  is  trying  to  poison  me,  you  see  !  "  he 
said.  "She'll  succeed  some  day."  I  saw  that 
she  was  hurt,  and  I  made  believe  to  laugh,  and 
said  that  Mrs.  Pratt  was  much  too  clever  to  get  rid 
of  her  husband  in  such  a  simple  way  ;  and  then  I 
began  to  tell  them  about  Japanese  tricks  with  spun 
glass  and  chopped  horsehair  and  the  like. 

Pratt  was  a  doctor,  and  knew  a  lot  more  than  I 
did  about  such  things,  but  that  only  put  me  on  my 
mettle,  and  I  told  a  story  about  a  woman  in 
Ireland  who  did  for  three  husbands  before  any  one 
suspected  foul  play. 

Did  you  never  hear  that  tale  ?  The  fourth  hus 
band  managed  to  keep  awake  and  caught  her, 
and  she  was  hanged.  How  did  she  do  it?  She 
drugged  them,  and  poured  melted  lead  into  their 
ears  through  a  little  horn  funnel  when  they  were 
asleep.  .  .  .  No  —  that's  the  wind  whistling.  It's 
backing  up  to  the  southward  again.  I  can  tell  by 
the  sound.  Besides,  the  other  thing  doesn't  often 
come  more  than  once  in  an  evening  even  at  this 
time  of  year  —  when  it  happened.  Yes,  it  was  in 
November.  Poor  Mrs.  Pratt  died  suddenly  in  her 
bed  not  long  after  I  dined  here.  I  can  fix  the  date, 


THE  SCREAMING   SKULL  47 

because  I  got  the  news  in  New  York  by  the  steamer 
that  followed  the  Olympia  when  I  took  her  out  on 
her  first  trip.  You  had  the  Leofric  the  same  year  ? 
Yes,  I  remember.  What  a  pair  of  old  buffers  we 
are  coming  to  be,  you  and  I.  Nearly  fifty  years 
since  we  were  apprentices  together  on  the  Clontarf. 
Shall  you  ever  forget  old  Blauklot?  "Biddy  te 
boor  beebles  ashore,  poys  !  "  Ha,  ha  !  Take  a 
little  more,  with  all  that  water.  It's  the  old 
Hulstkamp  I  found  in  the  cellar  when  this  house 
came  to  me,  the  same  I  brought  Luke  from  Am 
sterdam  five-and-twenty  years  ago.  He  had  never 
touched  a  drop  of  it.  Perhaps  he's  sorry  now,  poor 
fellow. 

Where  did  I  leave  off  ?  I  told  you  that  Mrs. 
Pratt  died  suddenly  —  yes.  Luke  must  have  been 
lonely  here  after  she  was  dead,  I  should  think ;  I 
came  to  see  him  now  and  then,  and  he  looked  worn 
and  nervous,  and  told  me  that  his  practice  was 
growing  too  heav}r  for  him,  though  he  wouldn't 
take  an  assistant  on  any  account.  Years  went  on, 
and  his  son  was  killed  in  South  Africa,  and  after 
that  he  began  to  be  queer.  There  was  something 
about  him  not  like  other  people.  I  believe  he  kept 
his  senses  in  his  profession  to  the  end  ;  there  was 
no  complaint  of  his  having  made  bad  mistakes  in 
cases,  or  anything  of  that  sort,  but  he  had  a  look 
about  him 


48  WANDERING   GHOSTS 

Luke  was  a  red-headed  man  with  a  pale  face 
when  he  was  young,  and  he  was  never  stout ;  in 
middle  age  he  turned  a  sandy  grey,  and  after  his 
son  died  he  grew  thinner  and  thinner,  till  his  head 
looked  like  a  skull  with  parchment  stretched  over 
it  very  tight,  and  his  eyes  had  a  sort  of  glare  in 
them  that  was  very  disagreeable  to  look  at. 

He  had  an  old  dog  that  poor  Mrs.  Pratt  had  been 
fond  of,  and  that  used  to  follow  her  everywhere. 
He  was  a  bull-dog,  and  the  sweetest  tempered  beast 
you  ever  saw,  though  he  had  a  way  of  hitching  his  up. 
per  lip  behind  one  of  his  fangs  that  frightened  stran 
gers  a  good  deal.  Sometimes,  of  an  evening,  Pratt 
and  Bumble  — that  was  the  dog's  name — used  to  sit 
and  look  at  each  other  a  long  time,  thinking  about  old 
times,  I  suppose,  when  Luke's  wife  used  to  sit  in  that 
chair  you've  got.  That  was  always  her  place,  and 
this  was  the  doctor's,  where  I'm  sitting.  Bumble 
used  to  climb  up  by  the  footstool  —  he  was  old  and 
fat  by  that  time,  and  could  not  jump  much,  and 
his  teeth  were  getting  shaky.  He  would  look 
steadily  at  Luke,  and  Luke  looked  steadily  at  the 
dog,  his  face  growing  more  and  more  like  a  skull  with 
two  little  coals  for  eyes ;  and  after  about  five  minutes 
or  so,  though  it  may  have  been  less,  old  Bumble 
would  suddenly  begin  to  shake  all  over,  and  all  on 
a  sudden  he  would  set  up  an  awful  howl,  as  if  he 
had  been  shot,  and  tumble  out  of  the  easy-chair 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  49 

and  trot  away,  and  hide  himself  under  the  side 
board,  and  lie  there  making  odd  noises. 

Considering  Pratt's  looks  jn  those  last  months, 
the  thing  is  not  surprising,  you  know.  I'm  not 
nervous  or  imaginative,  but  I  can  quite  believe  he 
might  have  sent  a  sensitive  woman  into  hysterics 
-  his  head  looked  so  much  like  a  skull  in  parch 
ment. 

At  last  I  came  down  one  day  before  Christmas, 
when  my  ship  was  in  dock  and  I  had  three  weeks 
off.  Bumble  was  not  about,  and  I  said  casually 
that  I  supposed  the  old  dog  was  dead. 

"  Yes,"  Pratt  answered,  and  I  thought  there 
was  something  odd  in  his  tone  even  before  he  went 
on  after  a  little  pause.  "  I  killed  him,"  he  said 
presently.  "  I  could  not  stand  it  any  longer." 

I  asked  what  it  was  that  Luke  could  not  stand, 
though  I  guessed  well  enough. 

"  He  had  a  way  of  sitting  in  her  chair  and  glar 
ing  at  me,  and  then  howling."  Luke  shivered  a 
little.  «  He  didn't  suffer  at  all,  poor  old  Bumble," 
he  went  on  in  a  hurry,  as  if  he  thought  I  might 
imagine  he  had  been  cruel.  "  I  put  dionine  into  his 
drink  to  make  him  sleep  soundly,  and  then  I 
chloroformed  him  gradually,  so  that  he  could  not 
have  felt  suffocated  even  if  he  was  dreaming.  It's 
been  quieter  since  then." 

I  wondered  what  he  meant,  for  the  words  slipped 


50  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

out  as  if  he  could  not  help  saying  them.  I've 
understood  since.  He  meant  that  he  did  not  hear 
that  noise  so  often  after  the  dog  was  out  of  the 
way.  Perhaps  he  thought  at  first  that  it  was  old 
Bumble  in  the  yard  howling  at  the  moon,  though 
it's  not  that  kind  of  noise,  is  it  ?  Besides,  I 
know  what  it  is,  if  Luke  didn't.  It's  only  a  noise, 
after  all,  and  a  noise  never  hurt  anybody  yet. 
But  he  was  much  more  imaginative  than  I  am. 
No  doubt  there  really  is  something  about  this  place 
that  I  don't  understand;  but  when  I  don't  under 
stand  a  thing,  I  call  it  a  phenomenon,  and  I  don't 
take  it  for  granted  that  it's  going  to  kill  me,  as 
he  did.  I  don't  understand  everything,  by  long 
odds,  nor  do  you,  nor  does  any  man  who  has 
been  to  sea.  We  used  to  talk  of  tidal  waves, 
for  instance,  and  we  could  not  account  for  them; 
now  we  account  for  them  by  calling  them  subma 
rine  earthquakes,  and  we  branch  off  into  fifty 
theories,  any  one  of  which  might  make  earthquakes 
quite  comprehensible  if  we  only  knew  what  they 
are.  I  fell  in  Avith  one  of  them  once,  and  the  ink 
stand  flew  straight  up  from  the  table  against  the 
ceiling  of  my  cabin.  The  same  thing  happened  to 
Captain  Lecky  —  I  dare  say  you've  read  about  it 
in  his  "  Wrinkles."  Very  good.  If  that  sort  of 
thing  took  place  ashore,  in  this  room  for  instance, 
a  nervous  person  would  talk  about  spirits  and  levi- 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  51 

tation  and  fifty  things  that  mean  nothing,  instead 
of  just  quietly  setting  it  down  as  a  "  phenomenon  " 
that  has  not  been  explained  yet.  My  view  of  that 
voice,  you  see. 

Besides,  what  is  there  to  prove  that  Luke  killed 
his  wife  ?  I  would  not  even  suggest  such  a  thing 
to  any  one  but  you.  After  all,  there  was  nothing 
but  the  coincidence  that  poor  little  Mrs.  Pratt  died 
suddenly  in  her  bed  a  few  days  after  I  told  that 
story  at  dinner.  She  was  not  the  only  woman 
who  ever  died  like  that.  Luke  got  the  doctor  over 
from  the  next  parish,  and  they  agreed  that  she  had 
died  of  something  the  matter  with  her  heart.  Why 
not?  It's  common  enough. 

Of  course,  there  was  the  ladle.  I  never  told 
anybody  about  that,  and  it  made  me  start  when 
I  found  it  in  the  cupboard  in  the  bedroom.  It 
was  new,  too  —  a  little  tinned  iron  ladle  that  had 
not  been  in  the  fire  more  than  once  or  twice,  and 
there  was  some  lead  in  it  that  had  been  melted, 
and  stuck  to  the  bottom  of  the  bowl,  all  grey,  with 
hardened  dross  on  it.  But  that  proves  nothing. 
A  country  doctor  is  generally  a  handy  man,  who 
does  everything  for  himself,  and  Luke  may  have 
had  a  dozen  reasons  for  melting  a  little  lead  in  a 
ladle.  He  was  fond  of  sea-fishing,  for  instance, 
and  he  may  have  cast  a  sinker  for  a  night-line ; 
perhaps  it  was  a  weight  for  the  hall  clock,  or  some- 


52  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

thing  like  that.  All  the  same,  when  I  found  it  I 
had  a  rather  queer  sensation,  because  it  looked  so 
much  like  the  thing  I  had  described  when  I  told 
them  the  story.  Do  you  understand  ?  It  affected 
me  unpleasantly,  and  I  threw  it  away ;  it's  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  a  mile  from  the  Spit,  and  it  will 
be  jolly  well  rusted  beyond  recognising  if  it's  ever 
washed  up  by  the  tide. 

You  see,  Luke  must  have  bought  it  in  the  vil 
lage,  years  ago,  for  the  man  sells  just  such  ladles 
still.  I  suppose  they  are  used  in  cooking.  In  any 
case,  there  was  no  reason  why  an  inquisitive  house 
maid  should  find  such  a  thing  lying  about,  with 
lead  in  it.  and  wonder  what  it  was,  and  perhaps 
talk  to  the  maid  who  heard  me  tell  the  story  at 
dinner —  for  that  girl  married  the  plumber's  son 
in  the  village,  and  may  remember  the  whole  thing. 

You  understand  me,  don't  you?  Now  that  Luke 
Pratt  is  dead  and  gone,  and  lies  buried  beside  his 
wife,  with  an  honest  man's  tombstone  at  his  head, 
I  should  not  care  to  stir  up  anything  that  could 
hurt  his  memory.  They  are  both  dead,  and  their 
son,  too.  There  was  trouble  enough  about  Luke's 
death,  as  it  was. 

How?  He  was  found  dead  on  the  beach  one 
morning,  and  there  was  a  coroner's  inquest.  There 
were  marks  on  his  throat,  but  he  had  not  been 
robbed.  The  verdict  was  that  he  had  come  to  his 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  53 

end  "  by  the  bauds  or  teeth  of  some  person  or  ani 
mal  unknown,"  for  half  the  jury  thought  it  might 
have  been  a  big  dog  that  had  thrown  him  down 
and  gripped  his  windpipe,  though  the  skin  of  his 
throat  was  not  broken.  No  one  knew  at  what 
time  he  had  gone  out,  nor  where  he  had  been. 
He  was  found  lying  on  his  back  above  high-water 
mark,  and  an  old  cardboard  bandbox  that  had  be 
longed  to  his  wife  lay  under  his  hand,  open.  The 
lid  had  fallen  otY.  lie  seemed  to  have  been  carry 
ing  home  a  skull  in  the  box  —  doctors  are  fond  of 
collecting  such  things.  It  had  rolled  out  and  lay 
near  his  head,  and  it  was  a  remarkably  fine  skull, 
rather  small,  beautifully  shaped  and  very  white, 
with  perfect  teeth.  That  is  to  say,  the  upper  jaw 
was  perfect,  but  there  was  no  lower  one  at  all, 
when  I  first  saw  it. 

Yes,  I  found  it  here  when  I  came.  You  see,  it 
was  very  white  and  polished,  like  a  thing  meant  to 
be  kept  under  a  glass  case,  and  the  people  did  not 
know  where  it  came  from,  nor  what  to  do  with  it ; 
so  they  put  it  back  into  the  bandbox  and  set  it  on 
the  shelf  of  the  cupboard  in  the  best  bedroom,  and 
of  course  they  showed  it  to  me  when  I  took  posses 
sion.  I  was  taken  down  to  the  beach,  too,  to  be 
shown  the  place  where  Luke  was  found,  and  the 
old  fishermar  explained  just  how  he  was  lying,  and 
the  skull  beside  him.  The  only  point  he  could  not 


54  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

explain  was  why  the  skull  had  rolled  up  the  slop 
ing  sand  toward  Luke's  head  instead  of  rolling 
downhill  to  his  feet.  It  did  not  seem  odd  to  me 
at  the  time,  but  I  have  often  thought  of  it  since, 
for  the  place  is  rather  steep.  I'll  take  you  there 
to-morrow  if  you  like  —  I  made  a  sort  of  cairn  of 
stones  there  afterward. 

When  he  fell  down,  or  was  thrown  down  — 
whichever  happened  —  the  bandbox  struck  the 
sand,  and  the  lid  came  off,  and  the  thing  came 
out  and  ought  to  have  rolled  down.  But  it  didn't. 
It  was  close  to  his  head,  almost  touching  it,  and 
turned  with  the  face  toward  it.  I  say  it  didn't 
strike  me  as  odd  when  the  man  told  me ;  but  I 
could  not  help  thinking  about  it  afterward,  again 
and  again,  till  I  saw  a  picture  of  it  all  when  I 
closed  my  eyes ;  and  then  I  began  to  ask  myself 
why  the  plaguey  thing  had  rolled  up  instead  of 
down,  and  why  it  had  stopped  near  Luke's  head 
instead  of  anywhere  else,  a  yard  away,  for  in 
stance. 

You  naturally  want  to  know  what  conclusion 
I  reached,  don't  you  ?  None  that  at  all  explained 
the  rolling,  at  all  events.  But  I  got  something 
else  into  my  head,  after  a  time,  that  made  me  feel 
downright  uncomfortable. 

Oh,  I  don't  mean  as  to  anything  supernatural ! 
There  may  be  ghosts,  or  there  may  not  be.  If 


THE  SCREAMING   SKULL  55 

there  are,  I'm  not  inclined  to  believe  that  they  can 
hurt  living  people  except  by  frightening  them,  and, 
for  my  part,  I  would  rather  face  any  shape  of 
ghost  than  a  fog  in  the  Channel  when  it's  crowded. 
No.  What  bothered  me  was  just  a  foolish  idea, 
that's  all,  and  I  cannot  tell  how  it  began,  nor 
what  made  it  grow  till  it  turned  into  a  certainty. 

I  was  thinking  about  Luke  and  his  poor  wife 
one  evening  over  my  pipe  and  a  dull  book,  when 
it  occurred  to  me  that  the  skull  might  possibly  be 
hers,  and  I  have  never  got  rid  of  the  thought  since. 
You'll  tell  me  there's  no  sense  in  it,  no  doubt ;  that 
Mrs.  Pratt  was  buried  like  a  Christian  and  is  lying 
in  the  churchyard  where  they  put  her,  and  that 
it's  perfectly  monstrous  to  suppose  her  husband 
kept  her  skull  in  her  old  bandbox  in  his  bedroom. 
All  the  same,  in  the  face  of  reason,  and  common 
sense,  and  probability,  I'm  convinced  that  he  did. 
Doctors  do  all  sorts  of  queer  things  that  would 
make  men  like  you  and  me  feel  creepy,  and  those 
are  just  the  things  that  don't  seem  probable,  nor 
logical,  nor  sensible  to  us. 

Then,  don't  you  see  ?  —  if  it  really  was  her 
skull,  poor  woman,  the  only  wray  of  accounting 
for  his  having  it  is  that  he  really  killed  her,  and 
did  it  in  that  way,  as  the  woman  killed  her 
husbands  in  the  story,  and  that  he  was  afraid  there 
might  be  an  examination  some  day  which  would 


56  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

betray  him.  You  see,  I  told  that  too,  and  I  believe 
it  had  really  happened  some  fifty  or  sixty  years 
ago.  They  dug  up  the  three  skulls,  you  know, 
and  there  was  a  small  lump  of  lead  rattling  about 
in  each  one.  That  was  what  hanged  the  woman. 
Luke  remembered  that,  I'm  sure.  I  don't  want  to 
know  what  he  did  when  he  thought  of  it ;  my 
taste  never  ran  in  the  direction  of  horrors,  and  I 
don't  fancy  you  care  ;for  them  either,  do  you  ? 
No.  If  you  did,  you  might  supply  what  is  wanting 
to  the  story. 

It  must  have  been  rather  grim,  eh?  I  wish  I 
did  not  see  the  whole  thing  so  distinctly,  just  as 
everything  must  have  happened.  He  took  it  the 
night  before  she  was  buried,  I'm  sure,  after  the 
coffin  had  been  shut,  and  when  the  servant  girl 
was  asleep.  I  would  bet  anything,  that  when  he'd 
got  it,  he  put  something  under  the  sheet  in  its 
place,  to  fill  up  and  look  like  it.  What  do  you 
suppose  he  put  there,  under  the  sheet? 

I  don't  wonder  you  take  me  up  on  what  I'm 
saying !  First  I  tell  you  that  I  don't  want  to 
know  what  happened,  and  that  I  hate  to  think 
about  horrors,  and  then  I  describe  the  whole  thing 
to  you  as  if  I  had  seen  it.  I'm  quite  sure  that  it 
was  her  work-bag  that  he  put  there.  I  remember 
the  bag  very  well,  for  she  always  used  it  of  an 
evening ;  it  was  made  of  brown  plush,  and  when 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  57 

it  was  stuffed  full  it  was  about  the  size  of  —  you 
understand.  Yes,  there  I  am,  at  it  again!  You 
may  laugh  at  me,  but  you  don't  live  here  alone, 
where  it  was  done,  and  you  didn't  tell  Luke  the 
story  about  the  melted  lead.  I'm  not  nervous,  I 
tell  you,  but  sometimes  I  begin  to  feel  that  I 
understand  why  some  people  are.  I  dwell  on  all 
this  when  I'm  alone,  and  I  dream  of  it,  and  when 
that  thing  screams  —  well,  frankly,  I  don't  like  the 
noise  any  more  than  you  do,  though  I  should 
be  used  to  it  by  this  time. 

I  ought  not  to  be  nervous.  I've  sailed  in  a 
haunted  ship.  There  was  a  Man  in  the  Top, 
and  two-thirds  of  the  crew  died  of  the  West  Coast 
fever  inside  of  ten  days  after  we  anchored ;  but  I 
was  all  right,  then  and  afterward.  I  have  seen 
some  ugly  sights,  too,  just  as  you  have,  and  all  the 
rest  of  us.  But  nothing  ever  stuck  in  my  head  in 
the  way  this  does. 

You  see,  I've  tried  to  get  rid  of  the  thing,  but  it 
doesn't  like  that.  It  wants  to  be  there  in  its 
place,  in  Mrs.  Pratt's  bandbox  in  the  cupboard  in 
the  best  bedroom.  It's  not  happy  anywhere  else. 
How  do  I  know  that  ?  Because  I've  tried  it.  You 
don't  suppose  that  I've  not  tried,  do  you  ?  As  long 
as  it's  there  it  only  screams  now  and  then,  gen 
erally  at  this  time  of  year,  but  if  I  put  it  out  of  the 
house  it  goes  on  all  night,  and  no  servant  will  stay 


58  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

here  twenty-four  hours.  As  it  is,  I've  often  been 
left  alone  and  have  been  obliged  to  shift  for 
myself  for  a  fortnight  at  a  time.  No  one  from 
the  village  would  ever  pass  a  night  under  the 
roof  now,  and  as  for  selling  the  place,  or  even 
letting  it,  that's  out  of  the  question.  The  old 
women  say  that  if  I  stay  here  I  shall  come  to  a 
bad  end  myself  before  long. 

I'm  not  afraid  of  that.  You  smile  at  the  mere 
idea  that  any  one  could  take  such  nonsense 
seriously.  Quite  right.  It's  utterly  blatant  non 
sense,  I  agree  with  you.  Didn't  I  tell  you  that 
it's  only  a  noise  after  all  when  you  started  and 
looked  round  as  if  you  expected  to  see  a  ghost 
standing  behind  your  chair? 

I  may  be  all  wrong  about  the  skull,  and  I 
like  to  think  that  I  am  —  when  I  can.  It  may 
be  just  a  fine  specimen  which  Luke  got  somewhere 
long  ago,  and  what  rattles  about  inside  when  you 
shake  it  may  be  nothing  but  a  pebble,  or  a  bit  of 
hard  clay,  or  anything.  Skulls  that  have  lain 
long  in  the  ground  generally  have  something 
inside  them  that  rattles,  don't  they?  No,  I've 
never  tried  to  get  it  out,  whatever  it  is ;  I'm 
afraid  it  might  be  lead,  don't  you  see  ?  And  if 
it  is,  I  don't  want  to  know  the  fact,  for  I'd  much 
rather  not  be  sure.  If  it  really  is  lead,  I  killed 
her  quite  as  much  as  if  I  had  done  the  deed 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  59 

myself.  Anybody  must  see  that,  I  should  think. 
As  long  as  I  don't  know  for  certain,  I  have  the 
consolation  of  saying  that  it's  all  utterly  ridiculous 
nonsense,  that  Mrs.  Pratt  died  a  natural  death  and 
that  the  beautiful  skull  belonged  to  Luke  when  he 
was  a  student  in  London.  But  if  I  were  quite 
sure,  I  believe  I  should  have  to  leave  the  house ; 
indeed  I  do,  most  certainly.  As  it  is,  I  had  to 
give  up  trying  to  sleep  in  the  best  bedroom  where 
the  cupboard  is. 

You  ask  me  why  I  don't  throw  it  into  the  pond 
—  yes,  but  please  don't  call  it  a  "confounded  bug 
bear  "  —  it  doesn't  like  being  called  names. 

There !  Lord,  what  a  shriek  !  I  told  you  so ! 
You're  quite  pale,  man.  Fill  up  your  pipe  and 
draw  your  chair  nearer  to  the  fire,  and  take  some 
more  drink.  Old  Hollands  never  hurt  anybody 
yet.  I've  seen  a  Dutchman  in  Java  drink  half  a 
jug  of  Hulstkamp  in  a  morning  without  turning 
a  hair.  I  don't  take  much  rum  myself,  because 
it  doesn't  agree  with  my  rheumatism,  but  you  are 
not  rheumatic  and  it  won't  damage  you.  Besides, 
it's  a  very  damp  night  outside.  The  wind  is 
howling  again,  and  it  will  soon  be  in  the  south 
west  ;  do  you  hear  how  the  windows  rattle  ?  The 
tide  must  have  turned  too,  by  the  moaning. 

We  should  not  have  heard  the  thing  again  if  you 
had  not  said  that.  I'm  pretty  sure  we  should  not. 


60  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Oh  yes,  if  you  choose  to  describe  it  as  a  coinci 
dence,  you  are  quite  welcome,  but  I  would  rather 
that  you  should  not  call  the  thing  names  again, 
if  you  don't  mind.  It  may  be  that  the  poor  little 
woman  hears,  and  perhaps  it  hurts  her,  don't  you 
know  ?  Ghost  ?  No !  You  don't  call  anything 
a  ghost  that  you  can  take  in  your  hands  and  look 
at  in  broad  daylight,  and  that  rattles  when  you 
shake  it.  Do  you,  now  ?  But  it's  something  that 
hears  and  understands;  there's  no  doubt  about 
that. 

I  tried  sleeping  in  the  best  bedroom  when  I 
first  came  to  the  house,  just  because  it  was  the  best 
and  the  most  comfortable,  but  I  had  to  give  it 
up.  It  was  their  room,  and  there's  the  big  bed 
she  died  in,  and  the  cupboard  is  in  the  thickness 
of  the  wall,  near  the  head,  on  the  left.  That's 
where  it  likes  to  be  kept,  in  its  bandbox.  I  only 
used  the  room  for  a  fortnight  after  I  came,  and 
then  I  turned  out  and  took  the  little  room  down 
stairs,  next  to  the  surgery,  where  Luke  used  to 
sleep  when  he  expected  to  be  called  to  a  patient 
during  the  night. 

I  was  always  a  good  sleeper  ashore ;  eight  hours 
is  my  dose,  eleven  to  seven  when  I'm  alone,  twelve 
to  eight  when  I  have  a  friend  with  me.  But  I 
could  not  sleep  after  three  o'clock  in  the  morning 
in  that  room  —  a  quarter  past,  to  be  accurate  — 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  61 

as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  timed  it  with  my  old  pocket 
chronometer,  which  still  keeps  good  time,  and  it 
was  always  at  exactly  seventeen  minutes  past 
three.  I  wonder  whether  that  was  the  hour  when 
she  died  ? 

It  was  not  what  you  have  heard.  If  it  had 
been  that  I  could  not  have  stood  it  two  nights. 
It  was  just  a  start  and  a  moan  and  hard  breathing 
for  a  few  seconds  in  the  cupboard,  and  it  could 
never  have  waked  me  under  ordinary  circum 
stances,  I'm  sure.  I  suppose  you  are  like  me  in 
that,  and  we  are  just  like  other  people  who  have 
been  to  sea.  No  natural  sounds  disturb  us  at  all, 
not  all  the  racket  of  a  square-rigger  hove  to  in  a 
heavy  gale,  or  rolling  on  her  beam  ends  before  the 
wind.  But  if  a  lead  pencil  gets  adrift  and  rattles 
in  the  drawer  of  your  cabin  table  you  are  awake 
in  a  moment.  Just  so  —  you  always  understand. 
Very  well,  the  noise  in  the  cupboard  was  no  louder 
than  that,  but  it  waked  me  instantly. 

I  said  it  was  like  a  "  start."  I  know  what  I 
mean,  but  it's  hard  to  explain  without  seeming 
to  talk  nonsense.  Of  course  you  cannot  exactly 
"hear"  a  person  "start"  ;  at  the  most,  you  might 
hear  the  quick  drawing  of  the  breath  between  the 
parted  lips  and  closed  teeth,  and  the  almost  im 
perceptible  sound  of  clothing  that  moved  suddenly 
though  very  slightly.  It  was  like  that. 


62  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

You  know  how  one  feels  what  a  sailing  vessel 
is  going  to  do,  two  or  three  seconds  before  she  does 
it,  when  one  has  the  wheel.  Riders  say  the  same 
of  a  horse,  but  that's  less  strange,  because  the  horse 
is  a  live  animal  with  feelings  of  its  own,  and  only 
poets  and  landsmen  talk  about  a  ship  being  alive, 
and  all  that.  But  I  have  always  felt  somehow  that 
besides  being  a  steaming  machine  or  a  sailing 
machine  for  carrying  weights,  a  vessel  at  sea  is  a 
sensitive  instrument,  and  a  means  of  communica 
tion  between  nature  and  man,  and  most  particu 
larly  the  man  at  the  wheel,  if  she  is  steered  by 
hand.  She  takes  her  impressions  directly  from 
wind  and  sea,  tide  and  stream,  and  transmits  them 
to  the  man's  hand,  just  as  the  wireless  telegraph 
picks  up  the  interrupted  currents  aloft  and  turns 
them  out  below  in  the  form  of  a  message. 

You  see  what  I  am  driving  at ;  I  felt  that 
something  started  in  the  cupboard,  and  I  felt  it 
so  vividly  that  I  heard  it,  though  there  may  have 
been  nothing  to  hear,  and  the  sound  inside  my 
head  waked  me  suddenly.  But  I  really  heard  the 
other  noise.  It  was  as  if  it  were  muffled  inside  a 
box,  as  far  away  as  if  it  came  through  a  long-dis 
tance  telephone ;  and  yet  I  knew  that  it  was  inside 
the  cupboard  near  the  head  of  my  bed.  My  hair 
did  not  bristle  and  my  blood  did  not  run  cold  that 
time.  I  simply  resented  being  waked  up  by  some- 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  63 

thing  that  had  no  business  to  make  a  noise,  any 
more  than  a  pencil  should  rattle  in  the  drawer  of 
my  cabin  table  on  board  ship.  For  I  did  not 
understand;  I  just  supposed  that  the  cupboard  had 
some  communication  with  the  outside  air,  and  that 
the  wind  had  got  in  and  was  moaning  through 
it  with  a  sort  of  very  faint  screech.  I  struck 
a  light  and  looked  at  my  watch,  and  it  was  seven 
teen  minutes  past  three.  Then  I  turned  over  and 
went  to  sleep  on  my  right  ear.  That's  my  good 
one ;  I'm  pretty  deaf  with  the  other,  for  I  struck 
the  water  with  it  when  I  was  a  lad  in  diving  from 
the  foretopsail  yard.  Silly  thing  to  do,  it  was, 
but  the  result  is  very  convenient  when  I  want  to 
go  to  sleep  when  there's  a  noise. 

That  was  the  first  night,  and  the  same  thing 
happened  again  and  several  times  afterward,  but 
not  regularly,  though  it  was  always  at  the 
same  time,  to  a  second ;  perhaps  I  was  sometimes 
sleeping  on  my  good  ear,  and  sometimes  not.  I 
overhauled  the  cupboard  and  there  was  no  way  by 
which  the  wind  could  get  in,  or  anything  else,  for 
the  door  makes  a  good  fit,  having  been  meant  to 
keep  out  moths,  I  suppose;  Mrs.  Pratt  must  have 
kept  her  winter  things  in  it,  for  it  still  smells  of 
camphor  and  turpentine. 

After  about  a  fortnight  I  had  had  enough  of  the 
noises.  So  far  I  had  said  to  myself  that  it  would 


64  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

be  silly  to  yield  to  it  and  take  the  skull  out  of  the 
room.  Things  always  look  differently  by  daylight, 
don't  they  ?  But  the  voice  grew  louder  —  I  sup 
pose  one  may  call  it  a  voice  —  and  it  got  inside 
my  deaf  ear,  too,  one  night.  I  realised  that  when 
I  was  wide  awake,  for  my  good  ear  was  jammed 
down  on  the  pillow,  and  I  ought  not  to  have  heard 
a  fog-horn  in  that  position.  But  I  heard  that,  and 
it  made  me  lose  my  temper,  unless  it  scared  me, 
for  sometimes  the  two  are  not  far  apart.  I  struck 
a  light  and  got  up,  and  I  opened  the  cupboard, 
grabbed  the  bandbcx  and  threw  it  out  of  the  win 
dow,  as  far  as  I  could. 

Then  my  hair  stood  on  end.  The  thing  screamed 
in  the  air,  like  a  shell  from  a  twelve-inch  gun.  It 
fell  on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  The  night  was 
very  dark,  and  I  could  not  see  it  fall,  but  I  know 
it  fell  beyond  the  road.  The  window  is  just  over 
the  front  door,  it's  fifteen  yards  to  the  fence,  more 
or  less,  and  the  road  is  ten  yards  wide.  There's  a 
quickset  hedge  beyond,  along  the  glebe  that  belongs 
to  the  vicarage. 

I  did  not  sleep  much  more  that  night.  It  was 
not  more  than  half  an  hour  after  I  had  thrown  the 
bandbox  out  when  I  heard  a  shriek  outside  —  like 
what  we've  had  to-night,  but  worse,  more  despair 
ing,  I  should  call  it;  and  it  may  have  been  my 
imagination,  but  I  could  have  sworn  that  the 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  65 

screams  came  nearer  and  nearer  each  time.  I  lit 
a  pipe,  and  walked  up  and  down  for  a  bit,  and 
then  took  a  book  and  sat  up  reading,  but  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I  can  remember  what  I  read  nor  even 
what  the  book  was,  for  every  now  and  then  a 
shriek  came  up  that  would  have  made  a  dead  man 
turn  in  his  coffin. 

A  little  before  dawn  some  one  knocked  at  the 
front  door.  There  was  no  mistaking  that  for  any 
thing  else,  and  I  opened  my  window  and  looked 
down,  for  I  guessed  that  some  one  wanted  the 
doctor,  supposing  that  the  new  man  had  taken 
Luke's  house.  It  was  rather  a  relief  to  hear  a 
human  knock  after  that  awful  noise. 

You  cannot  see  the  door  from  above,  owing  to 
the  little  porch.  The  knocking  came  again,  and  I 
called  out,  asking  who  was  there,  but  nobody 
answered,  though  the  knock  was  repeated.  I  sang 
out  again,  and  said  that  the  doctor  did  not  live 
here  any  longer.  There  was  no  answer,  but  it 
occurred  to  me  that  it  might  be  some  old  country 
man  who  was  stone  deaf.  So  I  took  my  candle 
and  went  down  to  open  the  door.  Upon  my  word, 
I  was  not  thinking  of  the  thing  yet,  and  I  had 
almost  forgotten  the  other  noises.  I  went  down 
convinced  that  I  should  find  somebody  outside,  on 
the  doorstep,  with  a  message.  I  set  the  candle  on 
the  hall  table,  so  that  the  wind  should  not  blow  it 


66  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

out  when  I  opened.  While  I  was  drawing  the  old- 
fashioned  bolt  I  heard  the  knocking  again.  It 
was  not  loud,  and  it  had  a  queer,  hollow  sound, 
now  that  I  was  close  to  it,  I  remember,  but  I  cer 
tainly  thought  it  was  made  by  some  person  who 
wanted  to  get  in. 

It  wasn't.  There  was  nobody  there,  but  as  I 
opened  the  door  inward,  standing  a  little  on  one 
side,  so  as  to  see  out  at  once,  something  rolled 
across  the  threshold  and  stopped  against  my  foot. 

I  drew  back  as  I  felt  it,  for  I  knew  what  it  was 
before  I  looked  down.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I 
knew,  and  it  seemed  unreasonable,  for  I  am  still 
quite  sure  that  I  had  thrown  it  across  the  road. 
It's  a  French  window,  that  opens  wide,  and  I  got  a 
good  swing  when  I  flung  it  out.  Besides,  when  I 
went  out  early  in  the  morning,  I  found  the  band 
box  beyond  the  thickset  hedge. 

You  may  think  it  opened  when  I  threw  it, 
and  that  the  skull  dropped  out;  but  that's  im 
possible,  for  nobody  could  throw  an  empty  card 
board  box  so  far.  It's  out  of  the  question;  you 
might  as  well  try  to  fling  a  ball  of  paper  twenty- 
five  yards,  or  a  blown  bird's  egg. 

To  go  back,  I  shut  and  bolted  the  hall  door, 
picked  the  thing  up  carefully,  and  put  it  on  the 
table  beside  the  candle.  I  did  that  mechanically, 
as  one  instinctively  does  the  right  thing  in  danger 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  67 

without  thinking  at  all  —  unless  one  does  the 
opposite.  It  may  seem  odd,  but  I  believe  my 
first  thought  had  been  that  somebody  might  come 
and  find  me  there  on  the  threshold  while  it  was 
resting  against  my  foot,  lying  a  little  on  its  side, 
and  turning  one  hollow  eye  up  at  my  face,  as  if 
it  meant  to  accuse  me.  And  the  light  and  shadow 
from  the  candle  played  in  the  hollows  of  the 
eyes  as  it  stood  on  the  table,  so  that  they  seemed 
to  open  and  shut  at  me.  Then  the  candle  went 
out  quite  unexpectedly,  though  the  door  was  fast 
ened  and  there  was  not  the  least  draught ;  and 
I  used  up  at  least  half  a  dozen  matches  before  it 
would  burn  again. 

I  sat  down  rather  suddenly,  without  quite 
knowing  why.  Probably  I  had  been  badly  fright 
ened,  and  perhaps  you  will  admit  there  was  no 
great  shame  in  being  scared.  The  thing  had  come 
home,  and  it  wanted  to  go  upstairs,  back  to  its 
cupboard.  I  sat  still  and  stared  at  it  for  a  bit, 
till  I  began  to  feel  very  cold ;  then  I  took  it  arid 
carried  it  up  and  set  it  in  its  place,  and  I  remem 
ber  that  I  spoke  to  it,  and  promised  that  it  should 
have  its  bandbox  again  in  the  morning. 

You  want  to  know  whether  I  stayed  in  the 
room  till  daybreak  ?  Yes,  but  I  kept  a  light 
burning,  and  sat  up  smoking  and  reading,  most 
likely  out  of  fright ;  plain,  undeniable  fear,  and 


68  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

you  need  not  call  it  cowardice  either,  for  that's 
not  the  same  thing.  I  could  not  have  stayed 
alone  with  that  thing  in  the  cupboard;  I  should 
have  been  scared  to  death,  though  I'm  not  more 
timid  than  other  people.  Confound  it  all,  man, 
it  had  crossed  the  road  alone,  and  had  got  up  the 
doorstep  and  had  knocked  to  be  let  in. 

When  the  dawn  came,  I  put  on  my  boots  and 
went  out  to  find  the  bandbox.  I  had  to  go  a 
good  way  round,  by  the  gate  near  the  highroad, 
and  I  found  the  box  open  and  hanging  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge.  It  had  caught  on  the 
twigs  by  the  string,  and  the  lid  had  fallen  off 
and  was  lying  on  the  ground  below  it.  That 
shows  that  it  did  not  open  till  it  was  well  over ; 
and  if  it  had  not  opened  as  soon  as  it  left  my 
hand,  what  was  inside  it  must  have  gone  beyond 
the  road  too. 

That's  all.  I  took  the  box  upstairs  to  the 
cupboard,  and  put  the  skull  back  and  locked 
it  up.  When  the  girl  brought  me  my  break 
fast  she  said  she  was  sorry,  but  that  she  must 
go,  and  she  did  not  care  if  she  lost  her  month's 
wages.  I  looked  at  her,  and  her  face  was  a  sort 
of  greenish,  yellowish  white.  I  pretended  to  be 
surprised,  and  asked  what  was  the  matter;  but 
that  was  of  no  use,  for  she  just  turned  on  me 
and  wanted  to  know  whether  I  meant  to  stay  in 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  69 

a  haunted  house,  and  how  long  I  expected  to  live 
if  I  did,  for  though  she  noticed  I  was  sometimes 
a  little  hard  of  hearing,  she  did  not  believe  that 
even  I  could  sleep  through  those  screams  again  — 
and  if  I  could,  why  had  I  been  moving  about 
the  house  and  opening  and  shutting  the  front 
door,  between  three  and  four  in  the  morning? 
There  was  no  answering  that,  since  she  had  heard 
me,  so  off  she  went,  and  I  was  left  to  myself. 
I  went  down  to  the  village  during  the  morning 
and  found  a  woman  who  was  willing  to  come 
and  do  the  little  work  there  is  and  cook  my 
dinner,  on  condition  that  she  might  go  home  every 
night.  As  for  me,  I  moved  downstairs  that  day, 
and  I  have  never  tried  to  sleep  in  the  best  bed 
room  since.  After  a  little  while  I  got  a  brace  of 
middle-aged  Scotch  servants  from  London,  and 
things  were  quiet  enough  for  a  long  time.  I 
began  by  telling  them  that  the  house  was  in  a 
very  exposed  position,  and  that  the  wind  whistled 
round  it  a  good  deal  in  the  autumn  and  winter, 
which  had  given  it  a  bad  name  in  the  village, 
the  Cornish  people  being  inclined  to  superstition 
and  telling  ghost  stories.  The  two  hard-faced, 
sandy-haired  sisters  almost  smiled,  and  they  an 
swered  with  great  contempt  that  they  had  no 
great  opinion  of  any  Southern  bogey  whatever, 
having  been  in  service  in  two  English  haunted 


70  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

houses,  where  they  had  never  seen  so  much  as 
the  Boy  in  Gray,  whom  they  reckoned  no  very 
particular  rarity  in  Forfarshire. 

They  stayed  with  me  several  months,  and  while 
they  wore  in  the  house  we  had  peace  and  quiet. 
One  of  them  is  here  again  now,  but  she  went 
away  with  her  sister  within  the  year.  This  one 
—  she  was  the  cook  —  married  the  sexton,  who 
works  in  my  garden.  That's  the  way  of  it.  It's 
a  small  village  and  he  has  not  much  to  do,  and 
he  knows  enough  about  flowers  to  help  me  nicely, 
besides  doing  most  of  the  hard  work ;  for  though 
I'm  fond  of  exercise,  I'm  getting  a  little  stiff  in 
the  hinges.  He's  a  sober,  silent  sort  of  fellow, 
who  minds  his  own  business,  and  he  was  a  wid 
ower  when  I  came  here  -  -  Trehearn  is  his  name, 
James  Trehearn.  The  Scotch  sisters  would  not 
admit  that  there  was  anything  wrong  about  the 
house,  but  when  November  came  they  gave  me 
warning  that  they  were  going,  on  the  ground  that 
the  chapel  was  such  a  long  walk  from  here,  being 
in  the  next  parish,  and  that  they  could  not  pos 
sibly  go  to  our  church.  But  the  younger  one 
came  back  in  the  spring,  and  as  soon  as  the 
banns  could  be  published  she  was  married  to 
James  Trehearn  by  the  vicar,  and  she  seems  to 
have  had  no  scruples  about  hearing  him  preach 
since  then.  I'm  quite  satisfied,  if  she  is !  The 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  71 

couple  live  in  a  small  cottage  that  looks  over  the 
churchyard. 

I  suppose  you  are  wondering  what  all  this 
has  to  do  with  what  I  was  talking  about.  I'm 
alone  so  much  that  when  an  old  friend  comes 
to  see  me,  I  sometimes  go  on  talking  just  for 
the  sake  of  hearing  my  own  voice.  But  in  this 
case  there  is  really  a  connection  of  ideas.  It 
was  James  Trehearn  who  buried  poor  Mrs.  Pratt, 
and  her  husband  after  her  in  the  same  grave, 
and  it's  not  far  from  the  back  of  his  cottage. 
That's  the  connection  in  my  mind,  you  see.  It's 
plain  enough.  He  knows  something;  I'm  quite 
sure  that  he  does,  by  his  manner,  though  he's 
such  a  reticent  beggar. 

Yes,  I'm  alone  in  the  house  at  night  now, 
for  Mrs.  Trehearn  does  everything  herself,  and 
when  I  have  a  friend  the  sexton's  niece  comes 
in  to  wait  on  the  table.  He  takes  his  wife 
home  every  evening  in  winter,  but  in  summer, 
when  there's  light,  she  goes  by  herself.  She's 
not  a  nervous  woman,  but  she's  less  sure  than 
she  used  to  be  that  there  are  no  bogies  in  England 
worth  a  Scotchwoman's  notice.  Isn't  it  amusing, 
the  idea  that  Scotland  has  a  monopoly  of  the 
supernatural  ?  Odd  sort  of  national  pride,  I  call 
that,  don't  you  ? 

That's  a  good  fire,  isn't  it?     When   driftwood 


72  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

gets  started  at  last  there's  nothing  like  it,  I 
think.  Yes,  we  get  lots  of  it,  for  I'm  sorry  to 
say  there  are  still  a  great  many  wrecks  about 
here.  It's  a  lonely  coast,  and  you  may  have  all 
the  wood  you  want  for  the  trouble  of  bringing 
it  in.  Trehearn  and  I  borrow  a  cart  now  and 
then,  and  load  it  between  here  and  the  Spit. 
I  hate  a  coal  fire  when  I  can  get  wood  of  any 
sort.  A  log  is  company,  even  if  it's  only  a  piece 
of  a  deck-beam  or  timber  sawn  off,  and  the  salt 
in  it  makes  pretty  sparks.  See  how  they  fly, 
like  Japanese  hand-fireworks !  Upon  my  word, 
with  an  old  friend  and  a  good  fire  and  a  pipe, 
one  forgets  all  about  that  thing  upstairs,  especially 
now  that  the  wind  has  moderated.  It's  only  a  lull, 
though,  and  it  will  blow  a  gale  before  morning. 

You  think  you  would  like  to  see  the  skull  ? 
I've  no  objection.  There's  no  reason  why  you 
shouldn't  have  a  look  at  it,  and  you  never  saw 
a  more  perfect  one  in  your  life,  except  that  there 
are  two  front  teeth  missing  in  the  lower  jaw. 

Oh  yes  —  I  had  not  told  you  about  the  jaw 
yet.  Trehearn  found  it  in  the  garden  last  spring 
when  he  was  digging  a  pit  for  a  new  asparagus 
bed.  You  know  we  make  asparagus  beds  six 
or  eight  feet  deep  here.  Yes,  yes  —  I  had  for 
gotten  to  tell  you  that.  He  was  digging  straight 
down,  just  as  he  digs  a  grave;  if  you  want  a 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  73 

good  asparagus  bed  made,  I  advise  you  to  get 
a  sexton  to  make  it  for  you.  Those  fellows  have 
a  wonderful  knack  at  that  sort  of  digging. 

Trehearn  had  got  down  about  three  feet  when 
he  cut  into  a  mass  of  white  lime  in  the  side  of 
the  trench.  He  had  noticed  that  the  earth  was 
a  little  looser  there,  though  he  says  it  had  not 
been  disturbed  for  a  number  of  years.  I  suppose 
he  thought  that  even  old  lime  might  not  be  good 
for  asparagus,  so  he  broke  it  out  and  threw  it 
up.  It  was  pretty  hard,  he  says,  in  biggish 
lumps,  and  out  of  sheer  force  of  habit  he  cracked 
the  lumps  with  his  spade  as  they  lay  outside  the 
pit  beside  him ;  the  jawbone  of  a  skull  dropped 
out  of  one  of  the  pieces.  He  thinks  he  must 
have  knocked  out  the  two  front  teeth  in  break 
ing  up  the  lime,  but  he  did  not  see  them  any 
where.  He's  a  very  experienced  man  in  such 
things,  as  you  may  imagine,  and  he  said  at  once 
that  the  jaw  had  probably  belonged  to  a  young 
woman,  and  that  the  teeth  had  been  complete 
when  she  died.  He  brought  it  to  me,  and  asked 
me  if  I  wanted  to  keep  it ;  if  I  did  not,  he  said 
he  would  drop  it  into  the  next  grave  he  made 
in  the  churchyard,  as  he  supposed  it  was  a 
Christian  jaw,  and  ought  to  have  decent  burial, 
wherever  the  rest  of  the  body  might  be.  I  told 
him  that  doctors  often  put  bones  into  quicklime 


74  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

to  whiten  them  nicely,  and  that  I  supposed  Dr. 
Pratt  had  once  had  a  little  lime  pit  in  the  garden 
for  that  purpose,  and  had  forgotten  the  jaw.  Tre- 
hearn  looked  at  me  quietly. 

"  Maybe  it  fitted  that  skull  that  used  to  be 
in  the  cupboard  upstairs,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Maybe 
Dr.  Pratt  had  put  the  skull  into  the  lime  to 
clean  it,  or  something,  and  when  he  took  it  out 
he  left  the  lower  jaw  behind.  There's  some 
human  hair  sticking  in  the  lime,  sir." 

I  saw  there  was,  and  that  was  what  Trehearn 
said.  If  he  did  not  suspect  something,  why  in 
the  world  should  he  have  suggested  that  the 
jaw  might  fit  the  skull  ?  Besides,  it  did.  That's 
proof  that  he  knows  more  than  he  cares  to  tell. 
Do  you  suppose  he  looked  before  she  was  buried  ? 
Or  perhaps  —  when  he  buried  Luke  in  the  same 
grave 

Well,  well,  it's  of  no  use  to  go  over  that,  is  it  ? 
I  said  I  would  keep  the  jaw  with  the  skull,  and 
I  took  it  upstairs  and  fitted  it  into  its  place. 
There's  not  the  slightest  doubt  about  the  two  be 
longing  together,  and  together  they  are. 

Trehearn  knows  several  things.  We  were  talk 
ing  about  plastering  the  kitchen  a  while  ago,  and 
he  happened  to  remember  that  it  had  not  been 
done  since  the  very  week  when  Mrs.  Pratt  died. 
He  did  not  say  that  the  mason  must  have  left 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  75 

some  lime  on  the  place,  but  he  thought  it,  and 
that  it  was  the  very  same  lime  he  had  found  in 
the  asparagus  pit.  He  knows  a  lot.  Trehearn  is 
one  of  your  silent  beggars  who  can  put  two  and 
two  together.  That  grave  is  very  near  the  back 
of  his  cottage,  too,  and  he's  one  of  the  quickest 
men  with  a  spade  I  ever  saw.  If  he  wanted  to 
know  the  truth,  he  could,  and  no  one  else  would 
ever  be  the  wiser  unless  he  chose  to  tell.  In  a 
quiet  village  like  ours,  people  don't  go  and  spend 
the  night  in  the  churchyard  to  see  whether  the 
sexton  potters  about  by  himself  between  ten 
o'clock  and  daylight. 

What  is  awful  to  think  of,  is  Luke's  delibera 
tion,  if  he  did  it ;  his  cool  certainty  that  no  one 
would  find  him  out ;  above  all,  his  nerve,  for  that 
must  have  been  extraordinary.  I  sometimes  think 
it's  bad  enough  to  live  in  the  place  where  it  was 
done,  if  it  really  was  done.  I  always  put  in  the 
condition,  you  see,  for  the  sake  of  his  memory, 
and  a  little  bit  for  my  own  sake,  too. 

I'll  go  upstairs  and  fetch  the  box  in  a  minute. 
Let  me  light  my  pipe  ;  there's  no  hurry  !  We  had 
supper  early,  and  it's  only  half-past  nine  o'clock. 
I  never  let  a  friend  go  to  bed  before  twelve,  or 
with  less  than  three  glasses — you  may  have  as 
many  more  as  you  like,  but  you  shan't  have  less, 
for  the  sake  of  old  times. 


76  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

It's  breezing  up  again,  do  you  hear  ?  That  was 
only  a  lull  just  now,  and  we  are  going  to  have  a 
bad  night. 

A  thing  happened  that  made  me  start  a  little 
when  I  found  that  the  jaw  fitted  exactly.  I'm  not 
very  easily  startled  in  that  way  myself,  but  I 
have  seen  people  make  a  quick  movement,  draw 
ing  their  breath  sharply,  when  they  had  thought 
they  were  alone  and  suddenly  turned  and  saw 
some  one  very  near  them.  Nobody  can  call  that 
fear.  You  wouldn't,  would  you?  No.  Well, 
just  when  I  had  set  the  jaw  in  its  place  under 
the  skull,  the  teeth  closed  sharply  on  my  finger. 
It  felt  exactly  as  if  it  were  biting  me  hard,  and  I 
confess  that  I  jumped  before  I  realised  that  I  had 
been  pressing  the  jaw  and  the  skull  together  with 
my  other  hand.  I  assure  you  I  was  not  at  all 
nervous.  It  was  broad  daylight,  too,  and  a  fine 
day,  and  the  sun  was  streaming  into  the  best  bed 
room.  It  would  have  been  absurd  to  be  nervous, 
and  it  was  only  a  quick  mistaken  impression,  but 
it  really  made  me  feel  queer.  Somehow  it  made 
me  think  of  the  funny  verdict  of  the  coroner's 
jury  on  Luke's  death,  "  by  the  hand  or  teeth  of 
some  person  or  animal  unknown."  Ever  since 
that  I've  wished  I  had  seen  those  marks  on 
his  throat,  though  the  lower  jaw  was  missing 
then. 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  77 

I  have  often  seen  a  man  do  insane  things  with 
his  hands  that  he  does  not  realise  at  all.  I  once 
saw  a  man  hanging  on  by  an  old  awning  stop  with 
one  hand,  leaning  backward,  outboard,  with  all  his 
weight  on  it,  and  he  was  just  cutting  the  stop  with 
the  knife  in  his  other  hand  when  I  got  my  arms 
round  him.  We  were  in  mid-ocean,  going  twenty 
knots.  He  had  not  the  smallest  idea  what  he  was 
doing;  neither  had  I  when  I  managed  to  pinch 
my  finger  between  the  teeth  of  that  thing.  I  can 
feel  it  now.  It  was  exactly  as  if  it  were  alive  and 
were  trying  to  bite  me.  It  would  if  it  could,  for 
I  know  it  hates  me,  poor  thing !  Do  you  suppose 
that  what  rattles  about  inside  is  really  a  bit  of 
lead  ?  Well,  I'll  get  the  box  down  presently,  and 
if  whatever  it  is  happens  to  drop  out  into  your 
hands  that's  your  affair.  If  it's  only  a  clod  of 
earth  or  a  pebble,  the  whole  matter  would  be  off  my 
mind,  and  I  don't  believe  I  should  ever  think  of  the 
skull  again  ;  but  somehow  I  cannot  bring  myself  to 
shake  out  the  bit  of  hard  stuff  myself.  The  mere 
idea  that  it  may  be  lead  makes  me  confoundedly  un 
comfortable,  yet  I've  got  the  conviction  that  I  shall 
know  before  long.  I  shall  certainly  know.  I'm  sure 
Trehearn  knows,  but  he's  such  a  silent  beggar. 

I'll  go  upstairs  now  and  get  it.  What?  You 
had  better  go  with  me?  Ha,  ha!  do  you  Jhink 
I'm  afraid  of  a  bandbox  and  a  noise  ?  Nonsense ! 


78  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Bother  the  candle,  it  won't  light!  As  if  the 
ridiculous  thing  understood  what  it's  wanted  for  ! 
Look  at  that  —  the  third  match.  They  light  fast 
enough  for  my  pipe.  There,  do  you  see  ?  It's  a 
fresh  box,  just  out  of  the  tin  safe  where  I  keep 
the  supply  on  account  of  the  dampness.  Oh,  you 
think  the  wick  of  the  candle  may  be  damp,  do 
you  ?  All  right,  I'll  ^ght  the  beastly  thing  in  the 
fire.  That  wont  go  out,  at  all  events.  Yes,  it 
sputters  a  bit,  but  it  will  keep  lighted  now.  It 
burns  just  like  any  other  candle,  doesn't  it  ?  The 
fact  is,  candles  are  not  very  good  about  here.  I 
don't  know  where  they  come  from,  but  they  have 
a  way  of  burning  low  occasionally,  with  a  greenish 
flame  that  spits  tiny  sparks,  and  I'm  often  an 
noyed  by  their  going  out  of  themselves.  It  cannot 
be  helped,  for  it  will  be  long  before  we  have  elec 
tricity  in  our  village.  It  really  is  rather  a  poor 
light,  isn't  it  ? 

You  think  I  had  better  leave  you  the  candle 
and  take  the  lamp,  do  you?  I  don't  like  to 
carry  lamps  about,  that's  the  truth.  I  never 
dropped  one  in  my  life,  but  I  have  always 
thought  I  might,  and  it's  so  confoundedly 
dangerous  if  you  do.  Besides,  I  am  pretty 
well  used  to  these  rotten  candles  by  this  time. 

Y^>u  may  as  well  finish  that  glass  while  I'm 
getting  it,  for  I  don't  mean  to  let  you  off  with 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  79 

than  three  before  you  go  to  bed.  You 
won't  have  to  go  upstairs,  either,  for  I've  put 
you  in  the  old  study  next  to  the  surgery  - 
that's  where  I  live  myself.  The  fact  is,  I  never 
ask  a  friend  to  sleep  upstairs  now.  The  last 
man  who  did  was  Crackenthorpe,  and  he  said 
he  was  kept  awake  all  night.  You  remember 
old  Crack,  don't  you?  He  stuck  to  the  Service, 
and  they've  just  made  him  an  admiral.  Yes, 
I'm  off  now  — unless  the  candle  goes  out.  I 
couldn't  help  asking  if  you  remembered  Crack 
enthorpe.  If  any  one  had  told  us  that  the 
skinny  little  idiot  he  used  to  be  was  to  turn 
out  the  most  successful  of  the  lot  of  us,  we 
should  have  laughed  at  the  idea,  shouldn't  we? 
You  and  I  did  not  do  badly,  it's  true  —  but  I'm 
really  going  now.  I  don't  mean  to  let  you  think 
that  I've  been  putting  it  off  by  talking !  As  if 
there  were  anything  to  be  afraid  of !  If  I  were 
scared,  I  should  tell  you  so  quite  frankly,  and 
get  you  to  go  upstairs  with  me. 


Here's  the  box.  I  brought  it  down  very  care 
fully,  so  as  not  to  disturb  it,  poor  thing.  You 
see,  if  it  were  shaken,  the  jaw  might  get  separated 
from  it  again,  and  I'm  siire  it  wouldn't  like  that. 
Yes,  the  candle  went  out  as  I  was  coming  down- 


80  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

stairs,  but  that  was  the  draught  from  the  leaky 
window  on  the  landing.  Did  you  hear  anything  ? 
Yes,  there  was  another  scream.  Am  I  pale,  do 
you  say  ?  That's  nothing.  My  heart  is  a  little 
queer  sometimes,  and  I  went  upstairs  too  fast.  In 
fact,  that's  one  reason  why  I  really  prefer  to  live 
altogether  on  the  ground  floor. 

Wherever  that  shriek  came  from,  it  was  not 
from  the  skull,  for  I  had  the  box  in  my  hand 
when  I  heard  the  noise,  and  here  it  is  now ;  so  we 
have  proved  definitely  that  the  screams  are  pro 
duced  by  something  else.  I've  no  doubt  I  shall 
find  out  some  day  what  makes  them.  Some 
crevice  in  the  wall,  of  course,  or  a  crack  in  a 
chimney,  or  a  chink  in  the  frame  of  a  window. 
That's  the  way  all  ghost  stories  end  in  real 
life.  Do  you  know,  I'm  jolly  glad  I  thought  of 
going  up  and  bringing  it  down  for  you  to  see,  for 
that  last  shriek  settles  the  question.  To  think 
that  I  should  have  been  so  weak  as  to  fancy  that 
the  poor  skall  could  really  cry  out  like  a  living 
thing  ! 

Now  I'll  open  the  box,  and  we'll  take  it  out 
and  look  at  it  under  the  bright  light.  It's  rather 
awful  to  think  that  the  poor  lady  used  to  sit  there, 
in  your  chair,  evening  after  evening,  in  just  the 
same  light,  isn't  it  ?  But  then  —  I've  made  up 
my  mind  that  it's  all  rubbish  from  beginning 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  81 

to  end,  and  that  it's  just  an  old  skull  that  Luke 
had  when  he  was  a  student ;  and  perhaps  he  put 
it  into  the  lime  merely  to  whiten  it,  and  could 
not  find  the  jaw. 

I  made  a  seal  on  the  string,  you  see,  after  I 
had  put  the  jaw  in  its  place,  and  I  wrote  on  the 
cover.  There's  the  old  white  label  on  it  still,  from 
the  milliner's,  addressed  to  Mrs.  Pratt  when  the 
hat  was  sent  to  her,  and  as  there  was  room  I 
wrote  on  the  edge  :  "  A  skull,  once  the  property 
of  the  late  Luke  Pratt,  M.D."  I  don't  quite  know 
why  I  wrote  that,  unless  it  was  with  the  idea  of 
explaining  how  the  thing  happened  to  be  in  my 
possession.  I  cannot  help  wondering  sometimes 
what  sort  of  hat  it  was  that  came  in  the  bandbox. 
What  colour  was  it,  do  you  think  ?  Was  it  a 
gay  spring  hat  with  a  bobbing  feather  and 
pretty  ribands?  Strange  that  the  very  same 
box  should  hold  the  head  that  wore  the  finery 
—  perhaps.  No  —  we  made  up  our  minds  tjiat — ' 
it  just  came  from  the  hospital  in  London  where 
Luke  did  his  time.  It's  far  better  to  look  at 
it  in  that  light,  isn't  it?  There's  no  more  con 
nection  between  that  skull  and  poor  Mrs.  Pratt 
than  there  was  between  iny  story  about  the  lead 
and 

Good    Lord!      Take    the   lamp — don't    let    it 
go  out,  if  you  can  help  it  —  I'll  have  the  window 


82  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

fastened  again  in  a  second  —  I  say,  what  a  gale ! 
There,  it's  out!  I  ted  you  so!  Never  mind, 
there's  the  firelight  —  I've  got  the  window  shut 

-the  bolt  was  only  half  down.  Was  the  box 
blown  off  the  table  ?  Where  the  deuce  is  it  ? 
There !  That  won't  open  again,  for  I've  put  up 
the  bar.  Good  dodge,  an  old-fashioned  bar  — 
there's  nothing  like  it.  Now,  you  find  the  band 
box  while  I  light  the  lamp.  Confound  those 
wretched  matches!  Yes,  a  pipe  spill  is  better  — 
it  must  light  in  the  fire  —  I  hadn't  thought  of  it 

-thank  you  —  there  we  are  again.  Now,  where's 
the  box?  Yes,  put  it  back  on  the  table,  and  we'll 
open  it. 

That's  the  first  time  I  have  ever  known  the 
wind  to  burst  that  window  open ;  but  it  was 
partly  carelessness  on  my  part  when  I  last  shut 
it.  Yes,  of  course  I  heard  the  scream.  It  seemed 
to  go  all  round  the  house  before  it  broke  in 
at  the  window.  That  proves  that  it's  always 
been  the  wind  and  nothing  else,  doesn't  it? 
When  it  was  not  the  wind,  it  was  my  imagina 
tion.  I've  always  been  a  very  imaginative  man : 
I  must  have  been,  though  I  did  not  know  it. 
As  we  grow  older  we  understand  ourselves  bet 
ter,  don't  you  know? 

I'll  have  a  drop  of  the  Hulstkamp  neat,  by 
way  of  an  exception,  since  you  are  filling  up 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  83 

your  glass.  That  damp  gust  chilled  me,  and 
with  my  rheumatic  tendency  I'm  very  much 
afraid  of  a  chill,  for  the  cold  sometimes  seems 
to  stick  in  my  joints  all  winter  when  it  once 
gets  in. 

By  George,  that's  good  stuff !  I'll  just  light 
a  fresh  pipe,  now  that  everything  is  snug  again, 
and  then  we'll  open  the  box.  I'm  so  glad  we 
heard  that  last  scream  together,  with  the  skull 
here  on  the  table  between  us,  for  a  thing  can 
not  possibly  be  in  two  places  at  the  same  time, 
and  the  noise  most  certainly  came  from  outside, 
as  any  noise  the  wind  makes  must.  You  thought 
you  heard  it  scream  through  the  room  after  the 
window  was  burst  open?  Oh  yes,  so  did  I,  but 
that  was  natural  enough  when  everything  was 
open.  Of  course  we  heard  the  wind.  What  could 
one  expect? 

Look  here,  please.  I  want  you  to  see  that  the 
seal  is  intact  before  we  open  the  box  together. 
Will  you  take  my  glasses  ?  No,  you  have  your 
own.  All  right.  The  seal  is  sound,  you  see, 
and  you  can  read  the  words  of  the  motto  easily. 
"  Sweet  and  low  "  -  that's  it  —  because  the  poem 
goes  on  "  Wind  of  the  Western  sea,"  and  says, 
"  blow  him  again  to  me,"  and  all  that.  Here 
is  the  seal  on  my  watch-chain,  where  it's  hung 
for  more  than  forty  years.  My  poor  little  wife 


84  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

gave  it  to  me  when  I  was  courting,  and  I 
never  had  any  other.  It  was  just  like  her  to 
think  of  those  words  —  she  was  always  fond 
of  Tennyson. 

It's  of  no  use  to  cut  the  string,  for  it's  fas 
tened  to  the  box,  so  I'll  just  break  the  wax  and 
untie  the  knot,  and  afterward  we'll  seal  it  up 
again.  You  see,  I  like  to  feel  that  the  thing 
is  safe  in  its  place,  and  that  nobody  can  take 
it  out.  Not  that  I  should  suspect  Trehearn  of 
meddling  with  it,  but  I  always  feel  that  he 
knows  a  lot  more  than  he  tells. 

You  see,  I've  managed  it  without  breaking 
the  string,  though  when  I  fastened  it  I  never 
expected  to  open  the  bandbox  again.  The  lid 
comes  off  easily  enough.  There !  Now  look ! 

What?  Nothing  in  it?  Empty?  It's  gone, 
man,  the  skull  is  gone ! 

No,  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  me.  I'm  only 
trying  to  collect  my  thoughts.  It's  so  strange. 
I'm  positively  certain  that  it  was  inside  when 
I  put  on  the  seal  last  spring.  I  can't  have  ima 
gined  that :  it's  utterly  impossible.  If  I  ever 
took  a  stiff  glass  with  a  friend  now  and  then,  I 
would  admit  that  I  might  have  made  some  idiotic 
mistake  when  I  had  taken  too  much.  But  I  don't, 
and  I  never  did.  A  pint  of  ale  at  supper  and 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  85 

half  a  go  of  rum  at  bedtime  was  the  most  I  ever 
took  in  my  good  days.  I  believe  it's  always 
we  sober  fellows  who  get  rheumatism  and  gout ! 
Yet  there  was  my  seal,  and  there  is  the  empty 
bandbox.  That's  plain  enough. 

I  say,  I  don't  half  like  this.  It's  not  right. 
There's  something  wrong  about  it,  in  my  opinion. 
You  needn't  talk  to  me  about  supernatural  mani 
festations,  for  I  don't  believe  in  them,  not  a  little 
bit !  Somebody  must  have  tampered  with  the  seal 
and  stolen  the  skull.  Sometimes,  when  I  go  out 
to  work  in  the  garden  in  summer,  I  leave  my 
watch  and  chain  on  the  table.  Trehearn  must 
have  taken  the  seal  then,  and  used  it,  for  he 
would  be  quite  sure  that  I  should  not  come  in 
for  at  least  an  hour. 

If  it  was  not  Trehearn  —  oh,  don't  talk  to  me 
about  the  possibility  that  the  thing  has  got  out 
by  itself !  If  it  has,  it  must  be  somewhere  about 
the  house,  in  some  out-of-the-way  corner,  waiting. 
We  may  come  upon  it  anywhere,  waiting  for  us, 
don't  you  know  ?  —  just  waiting  in  the  dark. 
Then  it  will  scream  at  me ;  it  will  shriek  at  me 
in  the  dark,  for  it  hates  me,  I  tell  you  ! 

The  bandbox  is  quite  empty.  We  are  not 
dreaming,  either  of  us.  There,  I  turn  it  upside 
down. 

What's  that?     Something  fell  out  as  I  turned 


86  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

it  over.  It's  on  the  floor,  it's  near  your  feet, 
I  know  it  is,  and  we  must  find  it.  Help  me  to 
find  it,  man.  Have  you  got  it?  For  God's  sake, 
give  it  to  me,  quickly ! 

Lead !  I  knew  it  when  I  heard  it  fall.  I  knew 
it  couldn't  be  anything  else  by  the  little  thud  it 
made  on  the  hearth-rug.  So  it  was  lead  after  all, 
and  Luke  did  it. 

I  feel  a  little  bit  shaken  up  —  not  exactly 
nervous,  you  know,  but  badly  shaken  up?  that's 
the  fact.  Anybody  would,  I  should  think.  After 
all,  you  cannot  say  that  it's  fear  of  the  thing,  for 
I  went  up  and  brought  it  down  —  at  least,  I  be 
lieved  I  was  bringing  it  down,  and  that's  the  same 
thing,  and  by  George,  rather  than  give  in  to  such 
silly  nonsense,  I'll  take  the  box  upstairs  again  and 
put  it  back  in  its  place.  It's  not  that.  It's  the 
certainty  that  the  poor  little  woman  came  to  her 
end  in  that  way,  by  my  fault,  because  I  told  the 
story.  That's  what  is  so  dreadful.  Somehow,  I 
had  always  hoped  that  I  should  never  be  quite 
sure  of  it,  but  there  is  no  doubting  it  now.  Look 
at  that ! 

Look  at  it !  That  little  lump  of  lead  with  no 
particular  shape.  Think  of  what  it  did,  man ! 
Doesn't  it  make  you  shiver  ?  He  gave  her  some 
thing  to  make  her  sleep,  of  course,  but  there  must 
have  been  one  moment  of  awful  agony.  Think  of 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  87 

having  boiling  lead  poured  into  your  brain.  Think 
of  it.  She  was  dead  before  she  could  scream,  but 
only  think  of  —  oh!  there  it  is  again — it's  just 
outside  —  I  know  it's  just  outside  —  I  can't  keep 
it  out  of  my  head !  -  -  oh  !  —  oh  ! 

You  thought  I  had  fainted  ?  No,  I  wish  I  had, 
for  it  would  ha  ye  stopped  sooner.  It's  all  very 
well  to  say  that  it's  only  a  noise,  and  that  a  noise 
never  hurt  anybody  —  you're  as  white  as  a  shroud 
yourself.  There's  only  one  thing  to  be  done,  if  we 
hope  to  close  an  eye  to-night.  We  must  find  it 
and  put  it  back  into  its  bandbox  and  shut  it  up  in 
the  cupboard,  where  it  likes  to  be.  I  don't  know 
how  it  got  out,  but  it  wants  to  get  in  again. 
That's  why  it  screams  so  awfully  to-night  -  -  it 
was  never  so  bad  as  this  —  never  since  I  first  - 

Bury  it  ?  Yes,  if  we  can  find  it,  we'll  bury  it, 
if  it  takes  us  all  night.  We'll  bury  it  six  feet 
deep  and  ram  down  the  earth  over  it,  so  that  it 
shall  never  get  out  again,  and  if  it  screams,  we 
shall  hardly  hear  it  so  deep  down.  Quick,  we'll 
get  the  lantern  and  look  for  it.  It  cannot  be  far 
away ;  I'm.  sure  it's  just  outside  —  it  was  coming 
in  when  I  shut  the  window,  I  know  it. 

Yes,  you're  quite  right.  I'm  losing  my  senses, 
and  I  must  get  hold  of  myself.  Don't  speak  to 
me  for  a  minute  or  two ;  I'll  sit  quite  still  and 


88  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

keep  my  eyes  shut  and  repeat  something  I  know. 
That's  the  best  way. 

"  Add  together  the  altitude,  the  latitude,  and  the 
polar  distance,  divide  by  two  and  subtract  the  alti 
tude  from  the  half-sum  ;  then  add  the  logarithm  of 
the  secant  of  the  latitude,  the  cosecant  of  the  polar 
distance,  the  cosine  of  the  half-sum  and  the  sine  of 
the  half -sum  minus  the  altitude  "  — there!  Don't 
say  that  I'm  out  of  my  senses,  for  my  memory  is  all 
right,  isn't  it  ? 

Of  course,  you  may  say  that  it's  mechanical, 
and  that  we  never  forget  the  things  we  learned 
when  we  were  boys  and  have  used  almost  every 
day  for  a  lifetime.  But  that's  the  very  point. 
When  a  man  is  going  crazy,  it's  the  mechanical 
part  of  his  mind  that  gets  out  of  order  and  won't 
work  right;  he  remembers  things  that  never  hap 
pened,  or  he  sees  things  that  aren't  real,  or  he 
hears  noises  when  there  is  perfect  silence.  That's 
not  what  is  the  matter  with  either  of  us,  is  it  ? 

Come,  we'll  get  the  lantern  and  go  round  the 
house.  It's  not  raining  —  only  blowing  like  old 
boots,  as  we  used  to  say.  The  lantern  is  in  the 
cupboard  under  the  stairs  in  the  hall,  and  I  always 
keep  it  trimmed  in  case  of  a  wreck. 

No  use  to  look  for  the  thing  ?  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  say  that.  It  was  nonsense  to  talk  of 
burying  it,  of  course,  for  it  doesn't  want  to  be 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  89 

buried ;  it  wants  to  go  back  into  its  bandbox  and 
be  taken  upstairs,  poor  thing !  Trehearn  took  it 
out,  I  know,  and  made  the  seal  over  again.  Per 
haps  he  took  it  to  the  churchyard,  and  he  may 
have  meant  well.  I  daresay  he  thought  that  it 
would  not  scream  any  more  if  it  were  quietly  laid 
in  consecrated  ground,  near  where  it  belongs.  But 
it  has  come  home.  Yes,  that's  it.  He's  not  half 
a  bad  fellow,  Trehearn,  and  rather  religiously  in 
clined,  I  think.  Does  not  that  sound  natural,  and 
reasonable,  and  well  meant?  He  supposed  it 
screamed  because  it  was  not  decently  buried  — 
with  the  rest.  But  he  was  wrong.  How  should 
he  know  that  it  screams  at  me  because  it  hates  me, 
and  because  it's  my  fault  that  there  was  that  little 
lump  of  lead  in  it  ? 

No  use  to  look  for  it,  anyhow  ?  Nonsense !  I 
tell  you  it  wants  to  be  found  —  Hark  !  what's 
that  knocking  ?  Do  you  hear  it  ?  Knock  — 
knock  —  knock  —  three  times,  then  a  pause,  and 
then  again.  It  has  a  hollow  sound,  hasn't  it? 

It  has  come  home.  I've  heard  that  knock  before. 
It  wants  to  come  in  and  be  taken  upstairs,  in  its 
box.  It's  at  the  front  door. 

Will  you  come  with  me?  We'll  take  it  in. 
Yes,  I  own  that  I  don't  like  to  go  alone  and  open 
the  door.  The  thing  will  roll  in  and  stop  against 
my  foot,  just  as  it  did  before,  and  the  light  will  go 


90  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

out.  I'm  a  good  deal  shaken  by  finding  that  bit 
of  lead,  and,  besides,  my  heart  isn't  quite  right  — 
too  much  strong  tobacco,  perhaps.  Besides,  I'm 
quite  willing  to  own  that  I'm  a  bit  nervous  to-night, 
if  I  never  was  before  in  my  life. 

That's  right,  come  along !  I'll  take  the  box 
with  me,  so  as  not  to  come  back.  Do  you  hear 
the  knocking  ?  It's  not  like  any  other  knocking 
I  ever  heard.  If  you  will  hold  this  door  open,  I 
can  find  the  lantern  under  the  stairs  by  the  light 
from  this  room  without  bringing  the  lamp  into  the 
hall  —  it  would  only  go  out. 

The  thing  knows  we  are  coming  —  hark  !  It's 
impatient  to  get  in.  Don't  shut  the  door  till 
the  lantern  is  ready,  whatever  you  do.  There 
will  be  the  usual  trouble  with  the  matches,  I 
suppose  —  no,  the  first  one,  by  Jove !  I  tell 
you  it  wants  to  get  in,  so  there's  no  trouble. 
All  right  with  that  door  now ;  shut  it,  please. 
Now  come  and  hold  the  lantern,  for  it's  blow 
ing  so  hard  outside  that  I  shall  have  to  use 
both  hands.  That's  it,  hold  the  light  low.  Do 
you  hear  the  knocking  still?  Here  goes  —  I'll 
open  just  enough  with  my  foot  against  the  bot 
tom  of  the  door  —  now  ! 

Catch  it !  it's  only  the  wind  that  blows  it 
across  the  floor,  that's  all  —  there's  half  a  hur 
ricane  outside,  I  tell  you!  Have  you  got  it? 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  91 

The  bandbox  is  on  the  table.  One  minute,  and 
I'll  have  the  bar  up.  There  ! 

Why  did  you  throw  it  into  the  box  so  roughly  ? 
It  doesn't  like  that,  you  know. 

What  do  you  say  ?  Bitten  your  hand  ?  Non 
sense,  man !  You  did  just  what  I  did.  You 
pressed  the  jaws  together  with  your  other  hand 
and  pinched  yourself.  Let  me  see.  You  don't 
mean  to  say  you  have  drawn  blood  ?  You  must 
have  squeezed  hard,  by  Jove,  for  the  skin  is  cer 
tainly  torn.  I'll  give  you  some  carbolic  solution 
for  it  before  we  go  to  bed,  for  they  say  a  scratch 
from  a  skull's  tooth  may  go  bad  and  give  trouble. 

Come  inside  again  and  let  me  see  it  b}^  the 
lamp.  I'll  bring  the  bandbox  —  never  mind  the 
lantern,  it  may  just  as  well  burn  in  the  hall, 
for  I  shall  need  it  presently  when  I  go  up  the 
stairs.  Yes,  shut  the  door  if  you  will ;  it  makes 
it  more  cheerful  and  bright.  Is  your  finger  still 
bleeding  ?  I'll  get  you  the  carbolic  in  an  instant ; 
just  let  me  see  the  thing. 

Ugh !  There's  a  drop  of  blood  on  the  upper 
jaw.  .  It's  on  the  eye-tooth.  Ghastly,  isn't  it? 
When  I  saw  it  running  along  the  floor  of  the 
hall,  the  strength  almost  went  out  of  my  hands, 
and  I  felt  my  knees  bending ;  then  I  understood 
that  it  was  the  gale,  driving  it  over  the  smooth 
boards.  You  don't  blame  me?  No,  I  should 


92  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

think  not !  We  were  boys  together,  and  we've  seen 
a  thing  or  two,  and  we  may  just  as  well  own  to  each 
other  that  we  were  both  in  a  beastly  funk  when  it 
slid  across  the  floor  at  you.  No  wonder  you  pinched 
your  finger  picking  it  up,  after  that,  if  I  did  the 
same  thing  out  of  sheer  nervousness,  in  broad 
daylight,  with  the  sun  streaming  in  on  me. 

Strange  that  the  jaw  should  stick  to  it  so 
closely,  isn't  it  ?  I  suppose  it's  the  dampness, 
for  it  shuts  like  a  vice  —  I  have  wiped  off  the 
drop  of  blood,  for  it  was  not  nice  to  look  at. 
I'm  not  going  to  try  to  open  the  jaws,  don't 
be  afraid !  I  shall  not  play  any  tricks  with 
the  poor  thing,  but  I'll  just  seal  the  box  again, 
and  we'll  take  it  upstairs  and  put  it  away  where 
it  wants  to  be.  The  wax  is  on  the  writing-table 
by  the  window.  Thank  you.  It  will  be  long  be 
fore  I  leave  my  seal  lying  about  again,  for  Tre- 
hearn  to  use,  I  can  tell  you.  Explain  ?  I  don't 
explain  natural  phenomena,  but  if  you  choose  to 
think  that  Trehearn  had  hidden  it  somewhere  in 
the  bushes,  and  that  the  gale  blew  it  to  the  house 
against  the  door,  and  made  it  knock,  as  if  it 
wanted  to  be  let  in,  you're  not  thinking  the  im 
possible,  and  I'm  quite  ready  to  agree  with  you. 

Do  you  see  that  ?  You  can  swear  that  you've 
actually  seen  me  seal  it  this  time,  in  case  any 
thing  of  the  kind  should  occur  again.  The  wax 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  93 

fastens  the  strings  to  the  lid,  which  cannot  pos 
sibly  be  lifted,  even  enough  to  get  in  one  finger. 
You're  quite  satisfied,  aren't  you  ?  Yes.  Besides, 
I  shall  lock  the  cupboard  and  keep  the  key  in  my 
pocket  hereafter. 

Now  we  can  take  the  lantern  and  go  upstairs. 
Do  you  know  ?  I'm  very  much  inclined  to  agree 
with  your  theory  that  the  wind  blew  it  against  the 
house.  I'll  go  ahead,  for  I  know  the  stairs; 
just  hold  the  lantern  near  my  feet  as  we  go 
up.  How  the  wind  howls  and  whistles !  Did 
you  feel  the  sand  on  the  floor  under  your  shoes 
as  we  crossed  the  hall  ? 

Yes  —  this  is  the  door  of  the  best  bedroom. 
Hold  up  the  lantern,  please.  This  side,  by  the 
head  of  the  bed.  I  left  the  cupboard  open  when 
I  got  the  box.  Isn't  it  queer  how  the  faint  odour 
of  women's  dresses  will  hang  about  an  old  closet 
for  years?  This  is  the  shelf.  You've  seen  me 
set  the  box  there,  and  now  you  see  me  turn  the 
key  and  put  it  into  my  pocket.  So  that's  done ! 

Good-night.  Are  you  sure  you're  quite  com 
fortable?  It's  not  much  of  a  room,  but  I  dare 
say  you  would  as  soon  sleep  here  as  upstairs 
to-night.  If  you  want  anything,  sing  out ;  there's 
only  a  lath  and  plaster  partition  between  us. 
There's  not  so  much  wind  on  this  side  by  half. 


94  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

There's  the  Hollands  on  the  table,  if  you'll  have 
one  more  nightcap.  No  ?  Well,  do  as  you  please. 
Good-night  again,  and  don't  dream  about  that 
thing,  if  you  can. 

The  following  paragraph  appeared  in  the  Pen- 
raddon  News,  23rd  November^  1906  : 

"  MYSTERIOUS  DEATH  OF  A  RETIRED  SEA 
CAPTAIN 

"  The  village  of  Tredcombe  is  much  disturbed  by 
the  strange  death  of  Captain  Charles  Braddock, 
and  all  sorts  of  impossible  stories  are  circulating 
with  regard  to  the  circumstances,  which  certainly 
seem  difficult  of  explanation.  The  retired  captain, 
who  had  successfully  commanded  in  his  time  the 
largest  and  fastest  liners  belonging  to  one  of  tne 
principal  transatlantic  steamship  companies,  was 
found  dead  in  his  bed  on  Tuesday  morning  in  his 
own  cottage,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  village. 
An  examination  was  made  at  once  by  the  local 
practitioner,  which  revealed  the  horrible  fact  that 
the  deceased  had  been  bitten  in  the  throat  by  a 
human  assailant,  with  such  amazing  force  as  to 
crush  the  windpipe  and  cause  death.  The  marks 
of  the  teeth  of  both  jaws  were  so  plainly  visible  on 
the  skin  that  they  could  be  counted,  but  the  perpe- 


THE  SCREAMING  SKULL  95 

trator  of  the  deed  had  evidently  lost  the  two  lower 
middle  incisors.  It  is  hoped  that  this  peculiarity 
may  help  to  identify  the  murderer,  who  can  only 
be  a  dangerous  escaped  maniac.  The  deceased, 
though  over  sixty-five  years  of  age,  is  said  to  have 
been  a  hale  man  of  considerable  physical  strength, 
and  it  is  remarkable  that  no  signs  of  any  struggle 
were  visible  in  the  room,  nor  could  it  be  ascertained 
how  the  murderer  had  entered  the  house.  Warn 
ing  has  been  sent  to  all  the  insane  asylums  in  the 
United  Kingdom,  but  as  yet  no  information  has 
been  received  regarding  the  escape  of  any  danger 
ous  patient. 

"  The  coroner's  jury  returned  the  somewhat 
singular  verdict  that  Captain  Braddock  came  to 
his  death  '  by  the  hands  or  teeth  of  some  person 
unknown.'  The  local  surgeon  is  said  to  have  ex 
pressed  privately  the  opinion  that  the  maniac  is  a 
woman,  a  view  he  deduces  from  the  small  size  of 
the  jaws,  as  shown  by  the  marks  of  the  teeth.  The 
whole  affair  is  shrouded  in  mystery.  Captain 
Braddock  was  a  widower,  and  lived  alone.  He 
leaves  no  children." 

\_Note.  —  Students  of  ghost  lore  and  haunted  houses  will 
find  the  foundation  of  the  foregoing  story  in  tlie  legends 
about  a  skull  which  is  still  preserved  in  the  farm-he  use 
called  Bettiscombe  Manor,  situated,  I  believe,  on  the  Dorset 
shire  coast.] 


MAN    OVERBOARD 


MAN    OVERBOARD! 

YES  —  I  have  heard  "  Man  overboard  !  "  a  good 
many  times  since  I  was  a  boy,  and  once  or  twice 
I  have  seen  the  man  go.  There  are  more  men  lost 
in  that  way  than  passengers  on  ocean  steamers 
ever  learn  of.  I  have  stood  looking  over  the  rail 
on  a  dark  night,  when  there  was  a  step  beside  me, 
and  something  flew  past  my  head  like  a  big  black 
bat  —  and  then  there  was  a  splash  !  Stokers  often 
go  like  that.  They  go  mad  with  the  heat,  and 
they  slip  up  on  deck  and  are  gone  before  anybody 
can  stop  them,  often  without  being  seen  or  heard. 
Now  and  then  a  passenger  will  do  it,  but  he  gen 
erally  has  what  he  thinks  a  pretty  good  reason.  I 
have  seen  a  man  empty  his  revolver  into  a  crowd 
of  emigrants  forward,  and  then  go  over  like  a 
rocket.  Of  course,  any  officer  who  respects  him 
self  will  do  what  he  can  to  pick  a  man  up,  if  the 
weather  is  not  so  heavy  that  he  would  have  to  risk 
his  ship ;  but  I  don't  think  I  remember  seeing  a 
man  come  back  when  he  was  once  fairly  gone  more 
than  two  or  three  times  in  all  my  life,  though  we 
have  often  picked  up  the  life-buoy,  and  sometimes 

09 


100  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

the  fellow's  cap.  Stokers  and  passengers  jump 
over ;  I  never  knew  a  sailor  to  do  that,  drunk  or 
sober.  Yes,  they  say  it  has  happened  on  hard 
ships,  but  I  never  knew  a  case  myself.  Once  in  a 
long  time  a  man  is  fished  out  when  it  is  just  too 
late,  and  dies  in  the  boat  before  you  can  get  him 
aboard,  and--  well,  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  told 
that  story  since  it  happened  —  I  knew  a  fellow 
who  went  over,  and  came  back  dead.  I  didn't  see 
him  after  he  came  back ;  only  one  of  us  did,  but 
we  all  knew  he  was  there. 

No,  I  am  not  giving  you  "  sharks."  There  isn't 
a  shark  in  this  story,  and  I  don't  know  that  I 
would  tell  it  at  all  if  we  weren't  alone,  just  you 
and  I.  But  you  and  I  have  seen  things  in  various 
parts,  and  maybe  you  will  understand.  Anyhow, 
you  know  that  I  am  telling  what  I  know  about, 
and  nothing  else ;  and  it  has  been  on  my  mind  to 
tell  you  ever  since  it  happened,  only  there  hasn't 
been  a  chance. 

It's  a  long  story,  and  it  took  some  time  to  hap 
pen;  and  it  began  a  good  many  years  ago,  in 
October,  as  well  as  I  can  remember.  I  was  mate 
then ;  I  passed  the  local  Marine  Board  for  master 
about  three  years  later.  She  was  the  Helen  B. 
Jackson,  of  New  York,  with  lumber  for  the  West 
Indies,  four-masted  schooner,  Captain  Hackstaff. 
She  was  an  old-fashioned  one,  even  then  —  no 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  101 

steam  donkey,  and  all  to  do  by  hand.  There  were 
still  sailors  in  the  coasting  trade  in  those  days,  you 
remember.  She  wasn't  a  hard  ship,  for  the  Old 
Man  was  better  than  most  of  them,  though  he  kept 
to  himself  and  had  a  face  like  a  monkey-wrench. 
We  were  thirteen,  all  told,  in  the  ship's  company ; 
and  some  of  them  afterwards  thought  that  might 
have  had  something  to  do  with  it,  but  I  had  all 
that  nonsense  knocked  out  of  me  when  I  was  a 
boy.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  like  to  go  to  sea 
on  a  Friday,  but  I  have  gone  to  sea  on  a  Friday, 
and  nothing  has  happened ;  and  twice  before  that 
we  have  been  thirteen,  because  one  of  the  hands 
didn't  turn  up  at  the  last  minute,  and  nothing 
ever  happened  either  —  nothing  worse  than  the 
loss  of  a  light  spar  or  two,  or  a  little  canvas. 
Whenever  I  have  been  wrecked,  we  had  sailed  as 
cheerily  as  you  please  —  no  thirteens,  no  Fridays, 
no  dead  men  in  the  hold.  I  believe  it  generally 
happens  that  way. 

I  daresay  you  remember  those  two  Benton  boys 
that  were  so  much  alike  ?  It  is  no  wonder,  for 
they  were  twin  brothers.  They  shipped  with  us 
as  boys  on  the  old  Boston  Belle,  when  you  were 
mate  and  I  was  before  the  mast.  I  never  was 
quite  sure  which  was  which  of  those  two,  even 
then  ;  and  when  they  both  had  beards  it  was  harder 
than  ever  to  tell  them  apart.  One  was  Jim,  and 


WANDERING  GHOSTS 

the  other  was  Jack ;  James  Benton  and  John  Ben- 
ton.  The  only  difference  I  ever  could  see  was, 
that  one  seemed  to  be  rather  more  cheerful  and  in 
clined  to  talk  than  the  other ;  but  one  couldn't 
even  be  sure  of  that.  Perhaps  they  had  moods. 
Anyhow,  there  was  one  of  them  that  used  to  whistle 
when  he  was  alone.  He  only  knew  one  tune,  and 
that  was  "  Nancy  Lee,"  and  the  other  didn't  know 
any  tune  at  all ;  but  I  may  be  mistaken  about  that, 
too.  Perhaps  they  both  knew  it. 

Well,  those  two  Benton  boys  turned  up  on  board 
the  Helen  B.  Jackson.  They  had  been  on  half  a 
dozen  ships  since  the  Boston  Belle,  and  they  had 
grown  up  and  were  good  seamen.  They  had 
reddish  beards  and  bright  blue  eyes  and  freckled 
faces;  and  they  were  quiet  fellows,  good  workmen 
on  rigging,  pretty  willing,  and  both  good  men  at 
the  wheel.  They  managed  to  be  in  the  same  watch 
—  it  was  the  port  watch  on  the  Helen  B.,  and  that 
was  mine,  and  I  had  great  confidence  in  them  both. 
If  there  was  any  job  aloft  that  needed  two  hands, 
they  were  always  the  first  to  jump  into  the  rigging; 
but  that  doesn't  often  happen  on  a  fore-and-aft 
schooner.  If  it  breezed  up,  and  the  jibtopsail  was 
to  be  taken  in,  they  never  minded  a  wetting,  and 
they  would  be  out  at  the  bowsprit  end  before  there 
was  a  hand  at  the  downhaul.  The  men  liked  them 
for  that,  and  because  they  didn't  blow  about  what 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  103 

they  could  do.  I  remember  one  day  in  a  reefing 
job,  the  downhanl  parted  and  came  down  on  deck 
from  the  peak  of  the  spanker.  When  the  weather 
moderated,  and  we  shook  the  reefs  out,  the  down- 
haul  was  forgotten  until  we  happened  to  think  we 
might  soon  need  it  again.  There  was  some  sea  on, 
and  the  boom  was  off,  and  the  gaff  was  slamming. 
One  of  those  Benton  boys  was  at  the  wheel,  and 
before  I  knew  what  he  was  doing,  the  other  was 
out  on  the  gaff  with  the  end  of  the  new  downhaul, 
trying  to  reeve  it  through  its  block.  The  one  who 
was  steering  watched  him,  and  got  as  white  as 
cheese.  The  other  one  was  swinging  about  on  the 
gaff  end,  and  every  time  she  rolled  to  leeward,  he 
brought  up  with  a  jerk  that  would  have  sent  any 
thing  but  a  monkey  flying  into  space.  But  he 
didn't  leave  it  until  he  had  rove  the  new  rope,  and 
he  got  back  all  right.  I  think  it  was  Jack  at  the 
wheel ;  the  one  that  seemed  more  cheerful,  the  one 
that  whistled  "Nancy  Lee."  He  had  rather  have 
been  doing  the  job  himself  than  watch  his  brother 
do  it,  and  he  had  a  scared  look ;  but  he  kept  her 
as  steady  as  he  could  in  the  swell,  and  he  drew  a 
long  breath  when  Jim  had  worked  his  way  back 
to  the  peak-halliard  block,  and  had  something  to 
hold  on  to.  I  think  it  was  Jim. 

They  had  good  togs,  too,  and  they  were  neat  and 
clean  men  in  the   forecastle.     I   knew  they  had 


104  WANDERING  -  GHOSTS 

nobody  belonging  to  them  ashore  —  no  mother,  no 
sisters,  and  no  wives ;  but  somehow  they  both 
looked  as  if  a  woman  overhauled  them  now  and 
then.  I  remember  that  they  had  one  ditty  bag  be 
tween  them,  and  they  had  a  woman's  thimble  in  it. 
One  of  the  men  said  something  about  it  to  them, 
and  they  looked  at  each  other ;  and  one  smiled, 
but  the  other  didn't.  Most  of  their  clothes  were 
alike,  but  they  had  one  red  guernsey  between  them. 
For  some  time  I  used  to  think  it  was  always  the 
same  one  that  wore  it,  and  I  thought  that  might 
be  a  way  to  tell  them  apart.  But  then  I  heard 
one  asking  the  other  for  it,  and  saying  that  the 
other  had  worn  it  last.  So  that  was  no  sign  either. 
The  cook  was  a  West  Indiaman,  called  James  Law- 
ley;  his  father  had  been  hanged  for  putting  lights 
in  cocoanut  trees  where  they  didn't  belong.  But 
he  was  a  good  cook,  and  knew  his  business;  and 
it  wasn't  soup-and-bully  and  dog's-body  every  Sun 
day.  That's  what  I  meant  to  say.  On  Sunday 
the  cook  called  both  those  boys  Jim,  and  on  week 
days  he  called  them  Jack.  He  used  to  say  he 
must  be  right  sometimes  if  he  did  that,  because 
even  the  hands  on  a  painted  clock  point  right  twice 
a  day. 

What  started  me  to  trying  for  some  way  of  tell 
ing  the  Bentons  apart  was  this.  I  heard  them 
talking  about  a  girl.  It  was  at  night,  in  our 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  105 

watch,  and  the  wind  had  headed  us  off  a  little 
rather  suddenly,  and  when  we  had  flattened  in  the 
jibs,  we  clewed  down  the  topsails,  while  the  two 
Benton  boys  got  the  spanker  sheet  aft.  One  of 
them  was  at  the  helm.  I  coiled  down  the  mizzen- 
topsail  downhaul  myself,  and  was  going  aft  to  see 
how  she  headed  up,  when  I  stopped  to  look  at  a 
light,  and  leaned  against  the  deck-house.  AMiile 
I  was  standing  there,  I  heard  the  two  boys  talk 
ing.  It  sounded  as  if  they  had  talked  of  the 
same  thing  before,  and,  as  far  as  I  could  tell,  the 
voice  I  heard  first  belonged  to  the  one  who  wasn't 
quite  so  cheerful  as  the  other  —  the  one  who  was 
Jim  when  one  knew  which  he  was. 

"  Does  Mamie  know  ?  "  Jim  asked. 

"Not  yet,"  Jack  answered  quietly.  He  was  at 
the  wheel.  "  I  mean  to  tell  her  next  time  we  get 
home." 

"  All  right." 

That  was  all  I  heard,  because  I  didn't  care  to 
stand  there  listening  while  they  were  talking 
about  their  own  affairs ;  so  I  went  aft  tto  look 
into  the  binnacle,  and  I  told  the  one  at  the  wheel 
to  keep  her  so  as  long  as  she  had  way  on  her, 
for  I  thought  the  wind  would  back  up  again  be 
fore  long,  and  there  was  land  to  leeward.  When 
he  answered,  his  voice,  somehow,  didn't  sound  like 
the  cheerful  one.  Perhaps  his  brother  had  re- 


106  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

lieved  the  wheel  while  they  had  been  speaking, 
but  what  I  had  heard  set  me  wondering  which 
of  them  it  was  that  had  a  girl  at  home.  There's 
lots  of  time  for  wondering  on  a  schooner  in  fair 
weather. 

After  that  I  thought  I  noticed  that  the  two 
brothers  were  more  silent  when  they  were  to 
gether.  Perhaps  they  guessed  that  I  had  over 
heard  something  that  night,  and  kept  quiet  when 
I  was  about.  Some  men  would  have  amused 
themselves  by  trying  to  chaff  them  separately 
about  the  girl  at  home,  and  I  suppose  whichever 
one  it  was  would  have  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag 
if  I  had  done  that.  But,  somehow,  I  didn't  like 
to.  Yes,  I  was  thinking  of  getting  married  my 
self  at  that  time,  so  I  had  a  port  of  fellow-feeling 
for  whichever  one  it  was,  that  made  me  not  want 
to  chaff  him. 

They  didn't  talk  much,  it  seemed  to  me;  but 
in  fair  weather,  when  there  was  nothing  to  do  at 
night,  and  one  was  steering,  the  other  was  ever 
lastingly  hanging  round  as  if  he  were  waiting  to 
relieve  the  wheel,  though  he  might  have  been  en 
joying  a  quiet  nap  for  all  I  cared  in  such  weather. 
Or  else,  when  one  was  taking  his  turn  at  the  look 
out,  the  other  would  be  sitting  on  an  anchor  be 
side  him.  One  kept  near  the  other,  at  night  more 
than  in  the  daytime.  I  noticed  that.  They  were 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  107 

fond  of  sitting  on  that  anchor,  and  they  generally 
tucked  away  their  pipes  under  it,  for  the  Helen  B. 
was  a  dry  boat  in  most  weather,  and  like  most 
fore-and-afters  was  better  on  a  wind  than  going 
free.  With  a  beam  sea  we  sometimes  shipped  a 
little  water  aft.  We  were  by  the  stern,  anyhow, 
on  that  voyage,  and  that  is  one  reason  why  we 
lost  the  man. 

We  fell  in  with  a  southerly  gale,  southeast  at 
first ;  and  then  the  barometer  began  to  fall  while 
you  could  watch  it,  and  a  long  swell  began  to 
come  up  from  the  south' ard.  A  couple  of  months 
earlier  we  might  have  been  in  for  a  cyclone,  but 
it's  "  October  all  over "  in  those  waters,  as  you 
know  better  than  I.  It  was  just  going  to  blow, 
and  then  it  was  to  rain,  that  was  all ;  and  we  had 
plenty  of  time  to  make  everything  snug  before  it 
breezed  up  much.  It  blew  harder  after  sunset, 
and  by  the  time  it  was  quite  dark  it  was  a  full 
gale.  We  had  shortened  sail  for  it,  but  as  we 
were  by  the  stern  we  were  carrying  the  spanker 
close  reefed  instead  of  the  storm  trysail.  She 
steered  better  so,  as  long  as  we  didn't  have  to 
heave  to.  I  had  the  first  watch  with  the  Benton 
boys,  and  we  had  not  been  on  deck  an  hour  when 
a  child  might  have  seen  that  the  weather  meant 
business. 

The  Old  Man   came   up   on   deck   and   looked 


108  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

round,  and  in  less  than  a  minute  he  told  us  to 
give  her  the  trysail.  That  meant  heaving  to,  and 
I  was  glad  of  it;  for  though  the  Helen  B.  was 
a  good  vessel  enough,  she  wasn't  a  new  ship  by 
a  long  way,  and  it  did  her  no  good  to  drive  her 
in  that  weather.  I  asked  whether  I  should  call 
all  hands,  but  just  then  the  cook  came  aft,  and  the 
Old  Man  said  he  thought  we  could  manage  the  job 
without  waking  the  sleepers,  and  the  trysail  was 
handy  on  deck  already,  for  we  hadn't  been  ex 
pecting  anything  better.  We  were  all  in  oilskins, 
of  course,  and  the  night  was  as  black  as  a  coal 
mine,  with  only  a  ray  of  light  from  the  slit  in  the 
binnacle  shield,  and  you  couldn't  tell  one  man 
from  another  except  by  his  voice.  The  Old  Man 
took  the  wheel ;  we  got  the  boom  amidships,  and 
he  jammed  her  into  the  wind  until  she  had  hardly 
any  way.  It  was  blowing  now,  and  it  was  all 
that  I  and  two  others  could  do  to  get  in  the  slack 
of  the  downhaul,  while  the  others  lowered  away 
at  the  peak  and  throat,  and  we  had  our  hands  full 
to  get  a  couple  of  turns  round  the  wet  sail.  It's 
all  child's  play  on  a  fore-and-after  compared  with 
reefing  topsails  in  anything  like  weather,  but  the 
gear  of  a  schooner  sometimes  does  unhandy  things 
that  you  don't  expect,  and  those  everlasting  long 
halliards  get  foul  of  everything  if  they  get  adrift. 
I  remember  thinking  how  unhandy  that  particular 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  109 

job  was.  Somebody  unhooked  the  throat-halliard 
block,  and  thought  he  had  hooked  it  into  the  head- 
cringle  of  the  trysail,  and  sang  out  to  hoist  away, 
but  he  had  missed  it  in  the  dark,  and  the  heavy 
block  went  flying  into  the  lee  rigging,  and  nearly 
killed  him  when  it  swung  back  with  the  weather 
roll.  Then  the  Old  Man  got  her  up  in  the  wind 
until  the  jib  was  shaking  like  thunder ;  then  he 
held  her  off,  and  she  went  off  as  soon  as  the  head- 
sails  filled,  and  he  couldn't  get  her  back  again 
without  the  spanker.  Then  the  Helen  B.  did  her 
favourite  trick,  and  before  we  had  time  to  say 
much,  we  had  a  sea  over  the  quarter  and  were  up 
to  our  waists,  with  the  parrels  of  the  trysail  only 
half  becketed  round  the  mast,  and  the  deck  so  full 
of  gear  that  you  couldn't  put  your  foot  on  a  plank, 
and  the  spanker  beginning  to  get  adrift  again,  be 
ing  badly  stopped,  and  the  general  confusion  and 
hell's  delight  that  you  can  only  have  on  a  fore- 
and-after  when  there's  nothing  really  serious  the 
matter.  Of  course,  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  the 
Old  Man  couldn't  have  steered  his  trick  as  well  as 
you  or  I  or  any  other  seaman ;  but  I  don't  believe 
he  had  ever  been  on  board  the  Helen  B.  before,  or 
had  his  hand  on  her  wheel  till  then ;  and  he  didn't 
know  her  ways.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  what 
happened  was  his  fault.  I  don't  know  whose  fault 
it  was.  Perhaps  nobody  was  to  blame.  But  I 


110  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

knew  something  happened  somewhere  on  board 
when  we  shipped  that  sea,  and  you'll  never  get 
it  out  of  my  head.  I  hadn't  any  spare  time  my 
self,  for  I  was  becketing  the  rest  of  the  trysail  to 
the  mast.  We  were  on  the  starboard  tack,  and 
the  throat-halliard  came  down  to  port  as  usual, 
and  I  suppose  there  were  at  least  three  men  at  it, 
hoisting  away,  while  I  was  at  the  beckets. 

Now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something.  You 
have  known  me,  man  and  boy,  several  voyages ; 
and  you  are  older  than  I  am ;  and  you  have  always 
been  a  good  friend  to  me.  Now,  do  you  think  I 
am  the  sort  of  man  to  think  I  hear  things  where 
there  isn't  anything  to  hear,  or  to  think  I  see  things 
when  there  is  nothing  to  see  ?  No,  you  don't. 
Thank  you.  Well  now,  I  had  passed  the  last 
becket,  and  I  sang  out  to  the  men  to  sway  away, 
and  I  was  standing  on  the  jaws  of  the  spanker-gaff, 
with  my  left  hand  on  the  bolt-rope  of  the  trysail, 
so  that  I  could  feel  when  it  was  board-taut,  and  I 
wasn't  thinking  of  anything  except  being  glad  the 
job  was  over,  and  that  we  were  going  to  heave  her 
to.  It  was  as  black  as  a  coal-pocket,  except  that 
you  could  see  the  streaks  on  the  seas  as  they  went 
by,  and  abaft  the  deck-house  I  could  see  the  ray  of 
light  from  the  binnacle  on  the  captain's  yellow  oil 
skin  as  he  stood  at  the  wheel  —  or,  rather,  I  might 
have  seen  it  if  I  had  looked  round  at  that  minute. 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  Ill 

But  I  didn't  look  round.  I  heard  a  man  whistling. 
It  was  "  Nanc;y  Lee,"  and  I  could  have  sworn  that 
the  man  was  right  over  my  head  in  the  crosstrees. 
Only  somehow  I  knew  very  well  that  if  anybody 
could  have  been  up  there,  and  could  have  whistled 
a  tune,  there  were  no  living  ears  sharp  enough  to 
hear  it  on  deck  then.  I  heard  it  distinctly,  and  at 
the  same  time  I  heard  the  real  whistling  of  the 
wind  in  the  weather  rigging,  sharp  and  clear  as 
the  steam- whistle  on  a  Dago's  peanut-cart  in  New 
York.  That  was  all  right,  that  was  as  it  should 
be;  but  the  other  wasn't  right;  and  I  felt  queer 
and  stiff,  as  if  I  couldn't  move,  and  my  hair  was 
curling  against  the  flannel  lining  of  my  sou'wester, 
and  I  thought  somebody  had  dropped  a  lump  of  ice 
down  my  back. 

I  said  that  the  noise  of  the  wind  in  the  rigging 
was  real,  as  if  the  other  wasn't,  for  I  felt  that  it 
wasn't,  though  I  heard  it.  But  it  was,  all  the 
same ;  for  the  captain  heard  it,  too.  When  I  came 
to  relieve  the  wheel,  while  the  men  were  clearing 
up  decks,  he  was  swearing.  He  was  a  quiet  man, 
and  I  hadn't  heard  him  swear  before,  and  I  don't 
think  I  did  again,  though  several  queer  things 
happened  after  that.  Perhaps  he  said  all  he  had 
to  say  then ;  I  don't  see  how  he  could  have  said 
anything  more.  I  used  to  think  nobody  could  swear 
like  a  Dane,  except  a  Neapolitan  or  a  South  Ameri- 


112  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

can  ;  but  when  I  had  heard  the  Old  Man,  I  changed 
my  mind.  There's  nothing  afloat  or  ashore  that  can 
beat  one  of  your  quiet  American  skippers,  if  he  gets 
off  on  that  tack.  I  didn't  need  to  ask  him  what  was 
the  matter,  for  I  knew  he  had  heard  "  Nancy  Lee," 
as  I  had,  only  it  affected  us  differently. 

He  did  not  give  me  the  wheel,  but  told  me  to 
go  forward  and  get  the  second  bonnet  off  the  stay 
sail,  so  as  to  keep  her  up  better.  As  we  tailed  on 
to  the  sheet  when  it  was  done,  the  man  next  me 
knocked  his  sou'wester  off  against  my  shoulder, 
and  his  face  came  so  close  to  me  that  I  could  see  it 
in  the  dark.  It  must  have  been  very  white  for  me 
to  see  it,  but  I  only  thought  of  that  afterwards.  I 
don't  see  how  any  light  could  have  fallen  upon  it, 
but  I  knew  it  was  one  of  the  Benton  boys.  I  don't 
know  what  made  me  speak  to  him.  "  Hullo,  Jim! 
Is  that  you  ?  "  I  asked.  I  don't  know  why  I  said 
Jim,  rather  than  Jack. 

"  I  am  Jack,"  he  answered. 

We  made  all  fast,  and  things  were  much  quieter. 
"  The  Old  Man  heard  you  whistling  '  Nancy  Lee/ 
just  now,"  I  said,  "  and  he  didn't  like  it." 

It  was  as  if  there  were  a  white  light  inside  his 
face,  and  it  was  ghastly.  I  know  his  teeth  chat 
tered.  But  he  didn't  say  anything,  and  the  next 
minute  he  was  somewhere  in  the  dark  trying  to 
find  his  sou'wester  at  the  foot  of  the  mast. 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  113 

When  all  was  quiet,  and  she  was  hove  to,  coming 
to  and  falling  off  her  four  points  as  regularly  as 
a  pendulum,  and  the  helm  lashed  a  little  to  the 
lee,  the  Old  Man  turned  in  again,  and  I  managed 
to  light  a  pipe  in  the  lee  of  the  deck-house,  for 
there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  till  the  gale 
chose  to  moderate,  and  the  ship  was  as  easy  as  a 
baby  in  its  cradla.  Of  course  the  cook  had  gone 
below,  as  he  might  have  done  an  hour  earlier ;  so 
there  were  supposed  to  be  four  of  us  in  the  watch. 
There  was  a  man  at  the  lookout,  and  there  was  a  hand 
by  the  wheel,  though  there  was  no  steering  to  be  done, 
and  I  was  having  my  pipe  in  the  lee  of  the  deck 
house,  and  the  fourth  man  was  somewhere  about 
decks,  probably  having  a  smoke,  too.  I  thought 
some  skippers  I  had  sailed  with  would  have  called 
the  watch  aft,  and  given  them  a  drink  after  that 
job,  but  it  wasn't  cold,  and  I  guessed  that  our  Old 
Man  wouldn't  be  particularly  generous  in  that 
way.  My  hands  and  feet  were  red-hot,  and  it  would 
be  time  enough  to  get  into  dry  clothes  when  it  was 
my  watch  below ;  so  I  stayed  where  I  was,  and 
smoked.  But  by  and  by,  things  being  so  quiet,  I 
began  to  wonder  why  nobody  moved  on  deck  ;  just 
that  sort  of  restless  wanting  to  know  where  every 
man  is  that  one  sometimes  feels  in  a  gale  of  wind 
on  a  dark  night.  So  when  1  had  finished  my  pipe, 
I  began  to  move  about.  I  went  aft,  and  there  was 


114  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

a  man  leaning  over  the  wheel,  with  his  legs 
apart  and  both  hands  hanging  down  in  the 
light  from  the  binnacle,  and  his  sou'wester 
over  his  eyes.  Then  I  went  forward,  and  there 
was  a  man  at  the  lookout,  with  his  back  against 
the  foremast,  getting  what  shelter  he  could 
from  the  staysail.  I  knew  by  his  small  height 
that  he  was  not  one  of  the  Benton  boys.  Then 
I  went  round  by  the  weather  side,  and  poked 
about  in  the  dark,  for  I  began  to  wonder  where 
the  other  man  was.  But  I  couldn't  find  him, 
though  I  searched  the  decks  until  I  got  right 
aft  again.  It  was  certainly  one  of  the  Benton 
boys  that  was  missing,  but  it  wasn't  like  either 
of  them  to  go  below  to  change  his  clothes  in  such 
warm  weather.  The  man  at  the  wheel  was  the 
other,  of  course.  I  spoke  to  him. 

"  Jim,  what's  become  of  your  brother  ?  " 

"  I  am  Jack,  sir." 

"  Well,  then,  Jack,  where's  Jim  ?  He's  not  on 
deck." 

"  I  don't  know,  sir." 

When  I  had  come  up  to  him  he  had  stood  up 
from  force  of  instinct,  and  had  laid  his  hands  on 
the  spokes  as  if  he  were  steering,  though  the 
wheel  was  lashed ;  but  he  still  bent  his  face  down, 
and  it  was  half  hidden  by  the  edge  of  his  sou' 
wester,  while  he  seemed  to  be  staring  at  the  com- 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  115 

pass.  He  spoke  in  a  very  low  voice,  but  that  was 
natural,  for  the  captain  had  left  his  door  open 
when  he  turned  in,  as  it  was  a  warm  night  in  spite 
of  the  storm,  and  there  was  no  fear  of  shipping 
any  more  water  now. 

"  What  put  it  into  your  head  to  whistle  like 
that,  Jack  ?  You've  been  at  sea  long  enough  to 
know  better." 

He  said  something,  but  I  couldn't  hear  the 
words ;  it  sounded  as  if  he  were  denying  the  charge. 

"  Somebody  whistled,"  I  said. 

He  didn't  answer,  and  then,  I  don't  know  why, 
perhaps  because  the  Old  Man  hadn't  given  us  a 
drink,  I  cut  half  an  inch  off  the  plug  of  tobacco  I 
had  in  my  oilskin  pocket,  and  gave  it  to  him.  He 
knew  my  tobacco  was  good,  and  he  shoved  it  into 
his  mouth  with  a  word  of  thanks.  I  was  on  the 
weather  side  of  the  wheel. 

"  Go  forward  and  see  if  you  can  find  Jim,"  I 
said. 

He  started  a  little,  and  then  stepped  back  and 
passed  behind  me,  and  was  going  along  the  weather 
side.  Maybe  his  silence  about  the  whistling  had 
irritated  me,  and  his  taking  it  for  granted  that  be 
cause  we  were  hove  to  and  it  was  a  dark  night,  he 
might  go  forward  any  way  he  pleased.  Anyhow, 
I  stopped  him,  though  I  spoke  good-naturedly 
enough. 


116  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  Pass  to  leeward,  Jack,"  I  said. 

He  didn't  answer,  but  crossed  the  deck  between 
the  binnacle  and  the  deck-house  to  the  lee  side. 
She  was  only  falling  off  and  coming  to,  and  riding 
the  big  seas  as  easily  as  possible,  but  the  man  was 
not  steady  on  his  feet  and  reeled  against  the 
corner  of  the  deck-house  and  then  against  the  lee 
rail.  I  was  quite  sure  he  couldn't  have  had  any 
thing  to  drink,  for  neither  of  the  brothers  were  the 
kind  to  hide  rum  from  their  shipmates,  if  they  had 
any,  and  the  only  spirits  that  were  aboard  were 
locked  up  in  the  captain's  cabin.  I  wondered 
whether  he  had  been  hit  by  the  throat-halliard 
block  and  was  hurt. 

I  left  the  wheel  and  went  after  him,  but  when  I 
got  to  the  corner  of  the  deck-house  I  saw  that  he 
was  on  a  full  run  forward,  so  I  went  back.  I 
watched  the  compass  for  a  while,  to  see  how  far 
she  went  off,  and  she  must  have  come  to  again 
half  a  dozen  times  before  I  heard  voices,  more  than 
three  or  four,  forward;  and  then  I  heard  the  little 
West  Indies  cook's  voice,  high  and  shrill  above  the 
rest : 

"  Man  overboard  !  " 

There  wasn't  anything  to  be  done,  with  the  ship 
hove  to  and  the  wheel  lashed.  If  there  was  a  man 
overboard,  he  must  be  in  the  water  right  alongside. 
I  couldn't  imagine  how  it  could  have  happened, 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  117 

but  I  ran  forward  instinctively.  I  came  upon  the 
cook  first,  half  dressed  in  his  shirt  and  trousers, 
just  as  he  had  tumbled  out  of  his  bunk.  He  was 
jumping  into  the  main  rigging,  evidently  hoping 
to  see  the  man,  as  if  any  one  could  have  seen 
anything  on  such  a  night,  except  the  foam-streaks 
on  the  black  water,  and  now  and  then  the  curl  of 
a  breaking  sea  as  it  went  away  to  leeward. 
Several  of  the  men  were  peering  over  the  rail  into 
the  dark.  I  caught  the  cook  by  the  foot,  and 
asked  who  was  gone. 

"It's  Jim  Benton,"  he  shouted  down  to  me. 
"  He's  not  aboard  this  ship  !  " 

There  was  no  doubt  about  that.  Jim  Benton 
was  gone ;  and  I  knew  in  a  flash  that  he  had  been 
taken  off  by  that  sea  when  we  were  setting  the 
storm  trysail.  It  was  nearly  half  an  hour  since 
then ;  she  had  run  like  wild  for  a  few  minutes 
until  we  got  her  hove  to,  and  no  swimmer  that 
ever  swam  could  have  lived  as  long  as  that  in 
such  a  sea.  The  men  knew  it  as  well  as  I,  but 
still  they  stared  into  the  foam  as  if  they  had  any 
chance  of  seeing  the  lost  man.  I  let  the  cook  get 
into  the  rigging  and  joined  the  men,  and  asked  if 
they  had  made  a  thorough  search  on  board,  though 
I  knew  they  had  and  that  it  could  not  take  long, 
for  he  wasn't  on  deck,  and  there  was  only  the 
forecastle  below. 


118  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  That  sea  took  him  over,  sir,  as  sure  as  you're 
born/'  said  one  of  the  men  close  beside  me. 

We  had  no  boat  that  could  have  lived  in  that, 
sea,  of  course,  and  we  all  knew  it.  I  offered  to 
put  one  over,  and  let  her  drift  astern  two  or  three 
cables'  lengths  by  a  line,  if  the  men  thought  they 
could  haul  me  aboard  again ;  but  none  of  them 
would  listen  to  that,  and  I  should  probably  have 
been  drowned  if  I  had  tried  it,  even  with  a  life-belt ; 
for  it  was  a  breaking  sea.  Besides,  they  all  knew 
as  well  as  I  did  that  the  man  could  not  be  right  in 
our  wake.  I  don't  know  why  I  spoke  again. 

"  Jack  Benton,  are  you  there  ?  Will  you  go 
if  I  will?" 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  a  voice  ;  and  that  was  all. 

By  that  time  the  Old  Man  was  on  deck,  and  I 
felt  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  rather  roughly,  as  if 
he  meant  to  shake  me. 

"  I'd  reckoned  you  had  more  sense,  Mr.  Torkeld- 
sen,"  he  said.  "  God  knows  I  would  risk  my 
ship  to  look  for  him,  if  it  were  any  use ;  but  he 
must  have  gone  half  an  hour  ago." 

He  was  a  quiet  man,  and  the  men  knew  he  was 
right,  and  that  they  had  seen  the  last  of  Jim 
Benton  when  they  were  bending  the  trysail  —  if 
anybody  had  seen  him  then.  The  captain  went 
below  again,  and  for  some  time  the  men  stood 
around  Jack,  quite  near  him,  without  saying 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  119 

anything,  as  sailors  do  when  they  are  sorry  for  a 
man  and  can't  help  him;  and  then  the  watch 
below  turned  in  again,  and  we  were  three  on  deck. 

Nobody  can  understand  that  there  can  be  much 
consolation  in  a  funeral,  unless  he  has  felt  that 
blank  feeling  there  is  when  a  man's  gone  over 
board  whom  everybody  likes.  I  suppose  landsmen 
think  it  would  be  easier  if  they  didn't  have  to  bury 
their  fathers  and  mothers  and  friends ;  but  it 
wouldn't  be.  Somehow  the  funeral  keeps  up  the 
idea  of  something  beyond.  You  may  believe 
in  that  something  just  the  same ;  but  a  man  who 
has  gone  in  the  dark,  between  two  seas,  without 
a  cry,  seems  much  more  beyond  reach  than  if  he 
were  still  lying  on  his  bed,  and  had  only  just 
stopped  breathing.  Perhaps  Jim  Bentcn  knew 
that,  and  wanted  to  come  back  to  us.  I  don't 
know,  and  I  am  only  telling  you  what  happened, 
and  you  may  think  what  you  like. 

Jack  stuck  by  the  wheel  that  night  until  the 
watch  was  over.  I  don't  know  whether  he  slept 
afterwards,  but  when  1  came  on  deck  four  hours 
later,  there  he  was  again,  in  his  oilskins,  with  his 
sou'wester  over  his  eyes,  staring  into  the  binnacle. 
We  saw  that  he  would  rather  stand  there,  and  we 
left  him  alone.  Perhaps  it  was  some  consolation 
to  him  to  get  that  ray  of  light  when  everything  was 
so  dark.  It  began  to  rain,  too,  as  it  can  when  a 


120  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

southerly  gale  is  going  to  break  up,  and  we  got 
every  bucket  and  tub  on  board,  and  set  them  under 
the  booms  to  catch  the  fresh  water  for  washing 
our  clothes.  The  rain  made  it  very  thick,  and  I 
went  and  stood  under  the  lee  of  the  staysail,  look 
ing  out.  I  could  tell  that  day  was  breaking, 
because  the  foam  was  whiter  in  the  dark  where  the 
seas  crested,  and  little  by  little  the  black  rain 
grew  grey  and  steamy,  and  I  couldn't  see  the  red 
glare  of  the  port  light  on  the  water  when  she 
went  off  and  rolled  to  leeward.  The  gale  had 
moderated  considerably,  and  in  another  hour  we 
should  be  under  way  again.  I  was  still  standing 
there  when  Jack  Benton  came  forward.  He  stood 
still  a  few  minutes  near  me.  The  rain  came  down 
in  a  solid  sheet,  and  I  could  see  his  wet  beard  and 
a  corner  of  his  cheek,  too,  grey  in  the  dawn. 
Then  he  stooped  down  and  began  feeling  under 
the  anchor  for  his  pipe.  We  had  hardly  shipped 
any  water  forward,  and  I  suppose  he  had  some 
way  of  tucking  the  pipe  in,  so  that  the  rain  hadn't 
floated  it  off.  Presently  he  got  on  his  legs  again, 
and  I  saw  that  he  had  two  pipes  in  his  hand.  One 
of  them  had  belonged  to  his  brother,  and  after  look 
ing  at  them  a  moment  I  suppose  he  recognized  his 
own,  for  he  put  it  in  his  mouth,  dripping  with 
water.  Then  he  looked  at  the  other  fully  a 
minute  without  moving.  When  he  had  made  up 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  121 

his  mind,  I  suppose,  he  quietly  chucked  it  over  the 
lee  rail,  without  even  looking  round  to  see  whether 
I  was  watching  him.  I  thought  it  was  a  pity,  for 
it  was  a  good  wooden  pipe,  with  a  nickel  ferrule, 
and  somebody  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
it.  But  I  didn't  like  to  make  any  remark,  for  he 
had  a  right  to  do  what  he  pleased  with  what  had 
belonged  to  his  dead  brother.  He  blew  the  water 
out  of  his  own  pipe,  and  dried  it  against  his  jacket, 
putting  his  hand  inside  his  oilskin;  he  filled  it, 
standing  under  the  lee  of  the  foremast,  got  a  light 
aftsr  wasting  two  or  three  matches,  and  turned  the 
pipe  upside  down  in  his  teeth,  to  keep  the  rain  out 
of  the  bowl.  I  don't  know  why  I  noticed  every 
thing  he  did,  and  remember  it  now ;  but  somehow 
I  felt  sorry  for  him,  and  I  kept  wondering  whether 
there  was  anything  I  could  say  that  would  make 
him  feel  better.  But  I  didn't  think  of  anything, 
and  as  it  was  broad  daylight  I  went  aft  again,  for 
I  guessed  that  the  Old  Man  would  turn  out  before 
long  and  order  the  spanker  set  and  the  helm  up. 
But  he  didn't  turn  out  before  seven  bells,  just  as 
the  clouds  broke  and  showed  blue  sky  to  leeward  — 
"  the  Frenchman's  barometer,"  you  used  to  call  it. 
Some  people  don't  seem  to  be  so  dead,  when 
they  are  dead,  as  others  are.  Jim  Benton  was 
like  that.  He  had  wbeen  on  my  watch,  and  I 
couldn't  get  used  to  the  idea  that  he  wasn't 


122  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

about  decks  with  me.  I  was  always  expecting 
to  see  him,  and  his  brother  was  so  exactly  like 
him  that  I  often  felt  as  if  I  did  see  him  and 
forgot  he  was  dead,  and  made  the  mistake 
of  calling  Jack  by  his  name ;  though  I  tried  not 
to,  because  I  knew  it  must  hurt.  If  ever  Jack 
had  been  the  cheerful  one  of  the  two,  as  I  had 
always  supposed  he  had  been,  he  had  changed 
very  much,  for  he  grew  to  be  more  silent  than 
Jim  had  ever  been. 

One  fine  afternoon  I  was  sitting  on  the  main- 
hatch,  overhauling  the  clockwork  of  the  taffrail- 
log,  which  hadn't  been  registering  very  well  of 
late,  and  I  had  got  the  cook  to  bring  me  a 
coffee-cup  to  held  the  small  screws  as  I  took 
them  out,  and  a  saucer  for  the  sperm  oil  I  was 
going  to  use.  I  noticed  that  he  didn't  go  away, 
but  hung  round  without  exactly  watching  what 
I  was  doing,  as  if  he  wanted  to  say  something 
to  me.  I  thought  if  it  were  worth  much,  he 
would  say  it  anyhow,  so  I  didn't  ask  him  ques 
tions  ;  and  sure  enough  he  began  of  his  own 
accord  before  long.  There  was  nobody  on  deck 
but  the  man  at  the  wheel,  and  the  other  man 
away  forward. 

"  Mr.  Torkeldsen/'  the  cook  began,  and  then 
stopped. 

I   supposed   he   was    going   to  ask   me   to   let 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  123 

the  watch  break  out  a  barrel  of  flour,  or  some 
salt  horse. 

"  Well,  doctor  ?  "  I  asked,  as  he  didn't  go  on. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Torkeldsen,"  he  answered,  "  I  some 
how  want  to  ask  you  whether  you  think  I  am 
giving  satisfaction  on  this  ship,  or  net  ?  " 

"  So  far  as  I  know,  you  are,  doctor.  I  haven't 
heard  any  complaints  from  the  forecastle,  and 
the  captain  has  said  nothing,  and  I  think  you 
know  your  business,  and  the  cabin-boy  is  burst 
ing  out  of  his  clothes.  That  looks  as  if  you 
are  giving  satisfaction.  What  makes  you  think 
you  are  not  ?  " 

I  am  not  good  at  giving  you  that  West  Indies 
talk,  and  shan't  try ;  but  the  doctor  beat  about 
the  bush  awhile,  and  then  he  told  me  he  thought 
the  men  were  beginning  to  play  tricks  on  him, 
and  he  didn't  like  it,  and  thought  he  hadn't 
deserved  it,  and  would  like  his  discharge  at  our 

next  port.  I  told  him  he  was  a  d d  fool, 

of  course,  to  begin  with ;  and  that  men  were 
more  apt  to  try  a  joke  with  a  chap  they  liked 
than  with  anybody  they  wanted  to  get  rid  of ; 
unless  it  was  a  bad  joke,  like  flooding  his  bunk, 
or  filling  his  boots  with  tar.  But  it  wasn't  that 
kind  of  practical  joke.  The  doctor  said  that  the 
men  were  trying  to  frighten  him,  and  he  didn't 
like  it,  and  that  they  put  things  in  his  way 


124  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

that  frightened  him.  So  I  told  him  he  was  a 

d d  fool  to  be  frightened,  anyway,  and  I 

wanted  to  know  what  things  they  put  in  his 
way.  He  gave  me  a  queer  answer.  He  said 
they  were  spoons  and  forks,  and  odd  plates,  and 
a  cup  now  and  then,  and  such  things. 

I  set  down  the  tanrail-log  on  the  bit  of  canvas 
I  had  put  under  it,  and  looked  at  the  doctor. 
He  was  uneasy,  and  his  eyes  had  a  sort  of 
hunted  look,  and  his  yellow  face  looked  grey. 
He  wasn't  trying  to  make  trouble.  He  was  in 
trouble.  So  I  asked  him  questions. 

He  said  he  could  count  as  well  as  anybody,  and 
do  sums  without  using  his  fingers,  but  that  when 
he  couldn't  count  any  other  way,  he  did  use  his 
fingers,  and  it  always  came  out  the  same.  He  said 
that  when  he  and  the  cabin-boy  cleared  up  after 
the  men's  meals  there  were  more  things  to  wash 
than  he  had  given  out.  There'd  be  a  fork  more,  or 
there' d  be  a  spoon  more,  and  sometimes  there'd  be 
a  spoon  and  a  fork,  and  there  was  always  a  plate 
more.  It  wasn't  that  he  complained  of  that. 
Before  poor  Jim  Benton  was  lost  they  had  a  man 
more  to  feed,  and  his  gear  to  wash  up  after  meals, 
and  that  was  in  the  contract,  the  doctor  said.  It 
would  have  been  if  there  were  twenty  in  the  ship's 
company ;  but  he  didn't  think  it  was  right  for  the 
men  to  play  tricks  like  that.  He  kept  his  things 


MAN  OVERBOARD  I  125 

in  good  order,  and  he  counted  them,  and  he  was  re 
sponsible  for  them,  and  it  wasa't  right  that  the 
men  should  take  more  things  than  they  needed 
when  his  back  was  turned,  and  just  soil  them  and 
mix  them  up  with  their  own,  so  as  to  make  him 
think  — 

He  stopped  there,  and  looked  at  me,  and  I 
looked  at  him.  I  didn't  know  what  he  thought, 
but  I  began  to  guess.  I  wasn't  going  to  humour 
any  such  nonsense  as  that,  so  I  told  him  to  speak 
to  the  men  himself,  and  not  come  bothering  me 
about  such  things. 

"  Count  the  plates  and  forks  and  spoons  before 
them  when  they  sit  down  to  table,  and  tell  them 
that's  all  they'll  get ;  and  when  they  have  finished, 
count  the  things  again,  and  if  the  count  isn't 
right,  find  out  who  did  it.  You  know  it  must  be 
one  of  them.  You're  not  a  green  hand ;  you've 
been  going  to  sea  ten  or  eleven  years,  and  don't 
want  any  lessons  about  how  to  behave  if  the  boys 
play  a  trick  on  you." 

"  If  I  could  catch  him/'  said  the  cook,  "  I'd  have 
a  knife  into  him  before  he  could  say  his  prayers." 

Those  West  India  men  are  always  talking  about 
knives,  especially  when  they  are  badly  frightened. 
I  knew  what  he  meant,  and  didn't  ask  him,  but 
went  on  cleaning  the  brass  cog-wheels  of  the 
patent  log,  and  oiling  the  bearings  with  a  feather. 


126  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  wash  it  out  with  boiling 
water,  sir  ?"  askel  the  cook  in  an  insinuating  tone. 
He  knew  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself,  and 
was  anxious  to  make  it  right  again. 

I  heard  no  more  about  the  odd  platter  and  gear 
for  two  or  three  days,  though  I  thought  about  his 
story  a  good  deal.  The  doctor  evidently  believed  that 
Jim  Benton  had  come  back,  though  he  didn't  quite 
like  to  say  so.  His  story  had  sounded  silly  enough 
on  a  bright  afternoon,  in  fair  weather,  when  the  sun 
was  on  the  water,  and  every  rag  was  drawing  in  the 
breeze,  and  the  sea  looked  as  pleasant  and  as  harm 
less  as  a  cat  that  has  just  eaten  a  canary.  But 
when  it  was  toward  the  end  of  the  first  watch,  and 
the  waning  moon  had  not  risen  yet,  and  the  water 
was  like  still  oil,  and  the  jibs  hung  down  flat  and 
helpless  like  the  wings  of  a  dead  bird  —  it  wasn't 
the  same  then.  More  than  once  I  have  started  then 
and  looked  round  when  a  fish  jumped,  expecting  to 
see  a  face  sticking  out  of  the  water  with  its  eyes 
shut.  I  think  we  all  felt  something  like  that  at 
the  time. 

One  afternoon  we  were  putting  a  fresh  service 
on  the  jib-sheet-pennant.  It  wasn't  my  watch, 
but  I  was  standing  by,  looking  on.  Just  then 
Jack  Benton  came  up  from  below,  and  went  to 
look  for  his  pipe  under  the  anchor.  His  face  was 
hard  and  drawn,  and  his  eyes  were  cold  like  steel 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  127 

balls.  He  hardly  ever  spoke  now,  but  he  did  his 
duty  as  usual,  and  nobody  had  to  complain  of  him, 
though  we  were  all  beginning  to  wonder  how  long 
his  grief  for  his  dead  brother  was  going  to  last  like 
that.  I  watched  him  as  he  crouched  down,  and 
ran  his  hand  into  the  hiding-place  for  the  pipe. 
When  he  stood  up,  he  had  two  pipes  in  his  hand. 

Now,  I  remembered  very  well  seeing  him  throw 
one  of  those  pipes  away,  early  in  the  morning  after 
the  gale ;  and  it  came  to  me  now,  and  I  didn't 
suppose  he  kept  a  stock  of  them  under  the  anchor. 
I  caught  sight  of  his  face,  and  it  was  greenish 
white,  like  the  foam  on  shallow  water,  and  he 
stood  a  long  time  looking  at  the  two  pipes.  He 
wasn't  looking  to  see  which  was  his,  for  I  wasn't 
five  yards  from  him  as  he  stood,  and  one  of  those 
pipes  had  been  smoked  that  day,  and  was  shiny 
where  his  hand  had  rubbed  it,  and  the  bone  mouth 
piece  was  chafed  white  where  his  teeth  had  bitten 
it.  The  other  was  water-logged.  It  was  swelled 
and  cracking  with  wet,  and  it  looked  to  me  as  if 
there  were  a  little  green  weed  on  it. 

Jack  Benton  turned  his  head  rather  stealthily 
as  I  looked  away,  and  then  he  hid  the  thing  in  his 
trousers  pocket,  and  went  aft  on  the  lee  side,  out 
of  sight.  The  men  had  got  the  sheet-pennant  on 
a  stretch  to  serve  it,  but  I  ducked  under  it  and 
stood  where  I  could  see  what  Jack  did,  just  under 


128  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

the  fore-staysail.  He  couldn't  see  me,  and  he  was 
looking  about  for  something.  His  hand  shook  as 
he  picked  up  a  bit  of  half-bent  iron  rod,  about  a 
foot  long,  that  had  been  used  for  turning  an  eye- 
bolt,  and  had  been  left  on  the  main-hatch.  His 
hand  shook  as  he  got  a  piece  of  marline  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  made  the  water-logged  pipe  fast  to  the 
iron.  He  didn't  mean  it  to  get  adrift  either,  for 
he  took  his  turns  carefully,  and  hove  them  taut 
and  then  rode  them,  so  that  they  couldn't  slip,  and 
made  the  end  fast  with  two  half- hitches  round  the 
iron,  and  hitched  it  back  on  itself.  Then  he  tried 
it  with  his  hands,  and  looked  up  and  down  the 
deck  furtively,  and  then  quietly  dropped  the  pipe 
and  iron  over  the  rail,  so  that  I  didn't  even  hear 
the  splash.  If  anybody  was  playing  tricks  on 
board,  they  weren't  meant  for  the  cook. 

I  asked  some  questions  about  Jack  Benton,  and 
one  of  the  men  told  me  that  he  was  off  his  feed, 
and  hardly  ate  anything,  and  swallowed  all  the 
coffee  he  could  lay  his  hands  on,  and  had  used  up 
all  his  own  tobacco  and  had  begun  on  what  his 
brother  had  left. 

66  The  doctor  says  it  ain't  so,  sir,"  said  the  man, 
looking  at  me  shyly,  as  if  he  didn't  expect  to  be 
believed ;  "  the  doctor  says  there's  as  much  eaten 
from  breakfast  to  breakfast  as  there  was  before 
Jim  fell  overboard,  though  there's  a  mouth  less 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  129 

and  another  that  eats  nothing.  I  says  it's  the 
cabin-boy  that  gets  it.  He's  bu' sting." 

I  told  him  that  if  the  cabin-boy  ate  more  than 
his  share,  he  must  work  more  than  his  share,  so  as 
to  balance  things.  But  the  man  laughed  queerly, 
and  looked  at  me  again. 

"  I  only  said  that,  sir,  just  like  that.  We  all 
know  it  ain't  so." 

"Well,  how  is  it?" 

"  How  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  man,  half-angry  all  at 
once.  "  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  there's  a 
hand  on  board  that's  getting  his  whack  along 
with  us  as  regular  as  the  bells." 

"  Does  he  use  tobacco  ? "  I  asked,  meaning  to 
laugh  it  out  of  him,  but  as  I  spoke,  I  remembered 
the  water-logged  pipe. 

"I  guess  he's  using  his  own  still,"  the  man 
answered,  in  a  queer,  low  voice.  "  Perhaps  he'll 
take  some  one  else's  when  his  is  all  gone." 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  re 
member,  for  just  then  the  captain  called  to  me  to 
stand  by  the  chronometer  while  he  took  his  fore 
observation.  Captain  Hackstaff  wasn't  one  of 
those  old  skippers  who  do  everything  themselves 
with  a  pocket  watch,  and  keep  the  key  of  the 
chronometer  in  their  waistcoat  pocket,  and  won't 
tell  the  mate  how  far  the  dead  reckoning  is  out. 
He  was  rather  the  other  way,  and  I  was  glad  of  it, 


130  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

for  he  generally  let  me  work  the  sights  he  took, 
and  just  ran  his  eye  over  my  figures  afterwards. 
I  am  bound  to  say  his  eye  was  pretty  good,  for  he 
would  pick  out  a  mistake  in  a  logarithm,  or  tell 
me  that  I  had  worked  the  "  Equation  of  Time  " 
with  the  wrong  sign,  before  it  seemed  to  me  that 
he  could  have  got  as  far  as  "  half  the  sum,  minus 
the  altitude."  He  was  always  right,  too,  and 
besides  he  knew  a  lot  about  iron  ships  and  local 
deviation,  and  adjusting  the  compass,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  I  don't  know  how  he  came  to  be  in 
command  of  a  fore-and-aft  schooner.  He  never 
talked  about  himself,  and  maybe  he  had  just  been 
mate  on  one  of  those  big  steel  square-riggers,  and 
something  had  put  him  back.  Perhaps  he  had 
been  captain,  and  had  got  his  ship  aground,  through 
no  particular  fault  of  his,  and  had  to  begin  over 
again.  Sometimes  he  talked  just  like  you  and  me, 
and  sometimes  he  would  speak  more  like  books  do, 
or  some  of  those  Boston  people  I  have  heard.  I 
don't  know.  We  have  all  been  shipmates  now 
and  then  with  men  who  have  seen  better  days. 
Perhaps  he  had  been  in  the  Navy,  but  what  makes 
me  think  he  couldn't  have  been,  was  that  he  was 
a  thorough  good  seaman,  a  regular  old  wind 
jammer,  and  understood  sail,  which  those  Navy 
chaps  rarely  do.  Why,  you  and  I  have  sailed  with 
men  before  the  mast  who  had  their  master's  certifi- 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  131 

cates  in  their  pockets  —  English  Board  of  Trade 
certificates,  too  —  who  could  work  a  double  alti 
tude  if  you  would  lend  them  a  sextant  and  give 
them  a  look  at  the  chronometer,  as  well  as  many  a 
man  who  commands  a  big  square-rigger.  Navigation 
ain't  everything,  nor  seamanship  either.  You've 
got  to  have  it  in  you,  if  you  mean  to  get  there. 

I  don't  know  how  our  captain  heard  that  there  was 
trouble  forward.  The  cabin-boy  may  have  told  him, 
or  the  men  may  have  talked  outside  his  door  when 
they  relieved  the  wheel  at  night.  Anyhow,  he  got 
wind  of  it,  and  when  he  had  got  his  sight  that 
morning,  he  had  all  hands  aft,  and  gave  them  a 
lecture.  It  was  just  the  kind  of  talk  you  might 
have  expected  from  him.  He  said  he  hadn't  any 
complaint  to  make,  and  that  so  far  as  he  knew 
everybody  on  board  was  doing  his  duty,  and  that 
he  was  given  to  understand  that  the  men  got  their 
whack,  and  were  satisfied.  He  said  his  ship  was 
never  a  hard  ship,  and  that  he  liked  quiet,  and 
that  was  the  reason  he  didn't  mean  to  have  any 
nonsense,  and  the  men  might  just  as  well  under 
stand  that,  too.  We'd  had  a  great  misfortune,  he 
said,  and  it  was  nobody's  fault.  We  had  lost  a 
man  we  all  liked  and  respected,  and  he  felt  that 
everybody  in  the  ship  ought  to  be  sorry  for  the 
man's  brother,  who  was  left  behind,  and  that  it  was 
rotten  lubberly  childishness,  and  unjust  and  un- 


132  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

manly  and  cowardly,  to  be  playing  schoolboy  tricks 
with  forks  and  spoons  and  pipes,  and  that  sort  of 
gear.  He  said  it  had  got  to  stop  right  now,  and 
that  was  all,  and  the  men  might  go  forward.  And 
so  they  did. 

It  got  worse  after  that,  and  the  men  watched 
the  cook,  and  the  cook  watched  the  men,  as  if  they 
were  trying  to  catch  each  other;  but  I  think  every 
body  felt  that  there  was  something  else.  One 
evening,  at  supper-time,  I  was  on  deck,  and  Jack 
came  aft  to  relieve  the  wheel  while  the  man  who 
was  steering  got  his  supper.  He  hadn't  got  past 
the  main-hatch  on  the  lee  side,  when  I  heard  a  man 
running  in  slippers  that  slapped  on  the  deck,  and 
there  was  a  sort  of  a  yell  and  I  saw  the  coloured 
cook  going  for  Jack,  with  a  carving  knife  in  his 
hand.  I  jumped  to  get  between  them,  and  Jack 
turned  round  short,  and  put  out  his  hand.  I  was 
too  far  to  reach  them,  and  the  cook  jabbed  out 
with  his  knife.  But  the  blade  didn't  get  anywhere 
near  Benton.  The  cook  seemed  to  be  jabbing  it 
into  the  air  again  and  again,  at  least  four  feet 
short  of  the  mark.  Then  he  dropped  his  right 
hand,  and  I  saw  the  whites  of  his  eyes  in  the  dusk, 
and  he  reeled  up  against  the  pin-rail,  and  caught 
hold  of  a  belaying-pin  with  his  left.  I  had  reached 
him  by  that  time,  and  grabbed  hold  of  his  knife- 
hand,  and  the  other,  too,  for  I  thought  he  was 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  133 

going  to  use  the  pin  ;  but  Jack  Benton  was  stand 
ing  staring  stupidly  at  him,  as  if  he  didn't  under 
stand.  But  instead,  the  cook  was  holding  on 
because  he  couldn't  stand,  and  his  teeth  were  chat 
tering,  and  he  let  go  of  the  knife,  and  the  point 
stuck  into  the  deck. 

"  He's  crazy  !  "  said  Jack  Benton,  and  that  was 
all  he  said;  and  he  went  aft. 

When  he  was  gone,  the  cook  began  to  come  to, 
and  he  spoke  quite  low,  near  my  ear. 

"  There  were  two  of  them !  So  help  me  God, 
there  were  two  of  them  !  " 

I  don't  know  why  I  didn't  take  him  by  the  collar, 
and  give  him  a  good  shaking ;  but  I  didn't.  I  just 
picked  up  the  knife  and  gave  it  to  him,  and  told 
him  to  go  back  to  his  galley,  and  not  to  make  a 
fool  of  himself.  You  see,  he  hadn't  struck  at  Jack, 
but  at  something  he  thought  he  saw,  and  I  knew 
what  it  was,  and  I  felt  that  same  thing,  like  a 
lump  of  ice  sliding  down  my  back,  that  I  felt  that 
night  when  we  were  bending  the  trysail. 

When  the  men  had  seen  hLn  running  aft,  they 
jumped  up  after  him,  but  they  held  off  when  they 
saw  that  I  had  caught  him.  By  and  by,  the  man 
who  had  spoken  to  me  before  told  me  what  had 
happened.  He  was  a  stocky  little  chap,  with  a 
red  head. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  there  isn't  much  to  tell.     Jack 


134  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Benton  had  been  eating  his  supper  with  the  rest 
of  us.  He  always  sits  at  the  after  corner  of  the 
table,  on  the  port  side.  His  brother  used  to  sit  at 
the  end,  next  him.  The  doctor  gave  him  a  thun 
dering  big  piece  of  pie  to  finish  up  with,  and  when 
he  had  finished  he  didn't  stop  for  a  smoke,  but 
went  off  quick  to  relieve  the  wheel.  Just  as  he 
had  gone,  the  doctor  came  in  from  the  galley,  and 
when  he  saw  Jack's  empty  plate  he  stood  stock  still 
staring  at  it ;  and  we  all  wondered  what  was  the 
matter,  till  we  looked  at  the  plate.  There  were 
two  forks  in  it,  sir,  lying  side  by  side.  Then  the 
doctor  grabbed  his  knife,  and  flew  up  through  the 
hatch  like  a  rocket.  The  other  fork  was  there 
all  right,  Mr.  Torkeldsen,  for  we  all  saw  it  and 
handled  it ;  and  we  all  had  our  own.  That's  all  I 
know." 

I  didn't  feel  that  I  wanted  to  laugh  when  he 
told  me  that  story;  but  I  hoped  the  Old  Man 
wouldn't  hear  it,  for  I  knew  he  wouldn't  believe  it, 
and  no  captain  that  ever  sailed  likes  to  have  stories 
like  that  going  round  about  his  ship.  It  gives  her  a 
bad  name.  But  that  was  all  anybody  ever  saw  except 
the  cook,  and  he  isn't  the  first  man  who  has  thought 
he  saw  things  without  having  any  drink  in  him. 
I  think,  if  the  doctor  had  been  weak  in  the  head, 
as  he  was  afterwards,  he  might  have  done  some 
thing  foolish  again,  and  there  might  have  been 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  135 

serious  trouble.  But  he  didn't.  Only,  two  or 
three  times,  I  saw  him  looking  at  Jack  Benton  in  a 
queer,  scared  way,  and  once  I  heard  him  talking  to 
himself. 

"  There's  two  of  them!  So  help  me  God,  there's 
two  of  them  !  " 

He  didn't  say  anything  more  about  asking  for 
his  discharge,  but  I  knew  well  enough  that  if  he 
got  ashore  at  the  next  port  we  should  never  see 
him  again,  if  he  had  to  leave  his  kit  behind  him, 
and  his  money,  too.  He  was  scared  all  through, 
for  good  and  all ;  and  he  wouldn't  be  right  again 
till  he  got  another  ship.  It's  no  use  to  talk  to  a 
man  when  he  gets  like  that,  any  more  than  it  is  to 
send  a  boy  to  the  main  truck  when  he  has  lost  his 
nerve. 

Jack  Benton  never  spoke  of  what  happened  that 
evening.  I  don't  know  whether  he  knew  about  the 
two  forks,  or  not ;  or  whether  he  understood  what 
the  trouble  was.  Whatever  he  knew  from  the  other 
men,  he  was  evidently  living  under  a  hard  strain. 
He  was  quiet  enough,  and  too  quiet ;  but  his  face 
was  set,  and  sometimes  it  twitched  oddly  when  he 
was  at  the  wheel,  and  he  would  turn  his  head  round 
sharp  to  look  behind  him.  A  man  doesn't  do  that 
naturally,  unless  there's  a  vessel  that  he  thinks  is 
creeping  up  on  the  quarter.  When  that  happens, 
if  the  man  at  the  wheel  takes  a  pride  in  his  ship, 


136  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

he  will  almost  always  keep  glancing  over  his 
shoulder  to  see  whether  the  other  fellow  is  gaining. 
But  Jack  Benton  used  to  look  round  when  there 
wa?  nothing  there ;  and  what  is  curious,  the  other 
men  seemed  to  catch  the  trick  when  they  were 
steering.  One  day  the  Old  Man  turned  out  just 
as  the  man  at  the  wheel  looked  behind  him. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  ?  "  asked  the  captain. 

"  Nothing,  sir/'  answered  the  man. 

"  Then  keep  your  eye  on  the  mizzen-royal,"  said 
the  Old  Man,  as  if  he  were  forgetting  that  we 
weren't  a  square-rigger. 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  man. 

The  captain  told  me  to  go  below  and  work  up 
the  latitude  from  the  dead-reckoning,  and  he  went 
forward  of  the  deck-house  and  sat  down  to  read,  as 
he  often  did.  When  I  came  up,  the  man  at  the 
wh  ^el  was  looking  round  again,  and  I  stood  beside 
him  and  just  asked  him  quietly  what  everybody 
was  looking  at,  for  it  was  getting  to  be  a  general 
habit.  He  wouldn't  say  anything  at  first,  but  just 
answered  that  it  was  nothing.  But  when  he  saw 
that  I  didn't  seem  to  care,  and  just  stood  there  as 
if  there  were  nothing  more  to  be  said,  he  naturally 
began  to  talk. 

He  said  that  it  wasn't  that  he  saw  anything,  be 
cause  there  wasn't  anything  to  see  except  the  spanker 
sheet  just  straining  a  little,  and  working  in  the 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  137 

sheaves  of  the  blocks  as  the  schooner  rose  to  the 
short  seas.  There  wasn't  anything  to  be  seen,  but 
it  seemed  to  him  that  the  sheet  made  a  queer  noise 
in  the  blocks.  It  was  a  new  manilla  shee+ ;  and 
in  dry  weather  it  did  make  a  little  noise,  some 
thing  between  a  creak  and  a  wheeze.  I  looked  at 
it  and  looked  at  the  man,  and  said  nothing ;  and 
presently  he  went  on.  He  asked  me  if  I  didn't 
notice  anything  peculiar  about  the  noise.  I 
listened  awhile,  and  said  I  didn't  notice  anything. 

Then  he  looked  rather  sheepish,  but  said  he 
didn't  think  it  could  be  his  own  ears,  because 
every  man  who  steered  his  trick  heard  the  same 
thing  now  and  then,  —  sometimes  once  in  a  day, 
sometimes  once  in  a  night,  sometimes  it  would  go 
on  a  whole  hour. 

"  It  sounds  like  sawing  wood,"  I  said,  just  like 
that. 

"  To  us  it  sounds  a  good  deal  more  like  a  man 
whistling  ( Nancy  Lee/ '  He  started  nervously  as 
he  spoke  the  last  words.  "  There,  sir,  don't  you 
hear  it  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

I  heard  nothing  but  the  creaking  of  the  manilla 
sheet.  It  was  getting  near  noon,  and  fine,  clear 
weather  in  southern  waters,  —  just  the  sort  of  day 
and  the  time  when  you  would  least  expect  to  feel 
creepy.  But  I  remembered  how  I  had  heard  that 
same  tune  overhead  at  night  in  a  gale  of  wind  a  fort/- 


138  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

night  earlier,  and  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that 
the  same  sensation  came  over  me  now,  and  I  wished 
myself  well  out  of  the  Helen  B.,  and  aboard  of  any 
old  ca^go-dragger,  with  a  windmill  on  deck,  and  an 
eighty-nine-forty-eighter  for  captain,  and  a  fresh 
leak  whenever  it  breezed  up. 

Little  by  little  during  the  next  few  days  life 
on  board  that  vessel  came  to  be  about  as  un 
bearable  as  you  can  imagine.  It  wasn't  that  there 
was  much  talk,  for  I  think  the  men  were  shy 
even  of  speaking  to  each  other  freely  about  what 
they  thought.  The  whole  ship's  company  grew 
silent,  until  one  hardly  ever  heard  a  voice,  except 
giving  an  order  and  the  answer.  The  men  didn't 
sit  over  their  meals  when  their  watch  was  below, 
but  either  turned  in  at  once  or  sat  about  on  the 
forecastle,  smoking  their  pipes  without  saying  a 
word.  We  were  all  thinking  of  the  same  thing. 
We  all  felt  as  if  there  were  a  hand  on  board, 
sometimes  below,  sometimes  about  decks,  some 
times  aloft,  sometimes  on  the  boom  end;  taking 
his  full  share  of  what  the  others  got,  but  doing 
no  work  for  it.  We  didn't  only  feel  it,  we  knew 
it.  He  took  up  no  room,  he  cast  no  shadow,  and 
we  never  heard  his  footfall  on  deck ;  but  he  took 
his  whack  with  the  rest  as  regular  as  the  bells, 
and  —  he  whistled  "Nancy  Lee."  It  was  like  the 
worst  sort  of  dream  you  can  imagine;  and  I 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  139 

daresay  a  good  many  of  us  tried  to  believe  it  was 
nothing  else  sometimes,  when  we  stood  looking 
over  the  weather  rail  in  fine  weather  with  the 
breeze  in  our  faces ;  but  if  we  happened  to  turn 
round  and  look  into  each  other's  eyes,  we  knew  it 
was  something  worse  than  any  dream  could  be ; 
and  we  would  turn  away  from  each  other  with 
a  queer,  sick  feeling,  wishing  that  we  could  just 
for  once  see  somebody  who  didn't  know  what  we 
knew. 

There's  not  much  more  to  tell  about  the  Helen 
B.  Jackson,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  We  were 
more  like  a  shipload  of  lunatics  than  anything 
else  when  we  ran  in  under  Morro  Castle  and  an 
chored  in  Havana.  The  cook  had  brain  fever, 
and  was  raving  mad  in  his  delirium ;  and  the  rest 
of  the  men  weren't  far  from  the  same  state.  The 
last  three  or  four  days  had  been  awful,  and  we 
had  been  as  near  to  having  a  mutiny  on  board  as 
I  ever  want  to  be.  The  men  didn't  want  to  hurt 
anybody;  but  they  wanted  to  get  away  out  of 
that  ship,  if  they  had  to  swim  for  it ;  to  get  away 
from  that  whistling,  from  that  dead  shipmate  who 
had  come  back,  and  who  filled  the  ship  with  his 
unseen  self  !  I  know  that  if  the  Old  Man  and  I 
hadn't  kept  a  sharp  lookout,  the  men  would  have 
put  a  boat  over  quietly  on  one  of  those  calm 
nights,  and  pulled  away,  leaving  the  captain  and 


140  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

me  and  the  mad  cook  to  work  the  schooner  into 
harbour.  We  should  have  done  it  somehow,  of 
course,  for  we  hadn't  far  to  run  if  we  could  get  a 
breeze ;  and  once  or  twice  I  found  myself  wishing 
that  the  crew  were  really  gone,  for  the  awful 
state  of  fright  in  which  they  lived  was  beginning 
to  work  on  me  too.  You  see  I  partly  believed 
and  partly  didn't ;  but,  anyhow,  I  didn't  mean  to 
let  the  thing  get  the  better  of  me,  whatever  it 
was.  I  turned  crusty,  too,  and  kept  the  men  at 
work  on  all  sorts  of  jobs,  and  drove  them  to  it 
until  they  wished  I  was  overboard,  too.  It  wasn't 
that  the  Old  Man  and  I  were  trying  to  drive 
them  to  desert  without  their  pay,  as  I  am  sorry 
to  say  a  good  many  skippers  and  mates  do,  even 
now.  Captain  Hackstaff  was  as  straight  as  a 
string,  and  I  didn't  mean  those  poor  fellows  should 
be  cheated  out  of  a  single  cent ;  and  I  didn't  blame 
them  for  wanting  to  leave  the  ship,  but  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  only  chance  to  keep  everybody 
sane  through  those  last  days  was  to  work  the  men 
till  they  dropped.  When  they  were  dead  tired 
they  slept  a  little,  and  forgot  the  thing  until  they 
had  to  tumble  up  on  deck  and  face  it  again.  That 
was  a  good  many  years  ago.  Do  you  believe  that 
I  can't  hear  "Nancy  Lee"  now,  without  feeling 
cold  down  my  back?  For  I  heard  it,  too,  now 
and  then,  after  the  man  had  explained  why  he 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  141 

was  always  looking  over  his  shoulder.  Perhaps 
it  was  imagination.  I  don't  know.  When  I  look 
back  it  seems  to  me  that  I  only  remember  a  long 
fight  against  something  I  couldn't  see,  against  an 
appalling  presence,  against  something  worse  than 
cholera  or  Yellow  Jack  or  the  plague  —  and,  good 
ness  knows,  the  mildest  of  them  is  bad  enough 
when  it  breaks  out  at  sea.  The  men  got  as  white 
as  chalk,  and  wouldn't  go  about  decks  alone  at 
night,  no  matter  what  I  said  to  them.  With  the 
cook  raving  in  his  bunk,  the  forecastle  would  have 
been  a  perfect  hell,  and  there  wasn't  a  spare 
cabin  on  board.  There  never  is  on  a  fore-and- 
after.  So  I  put  him  into  mine,  and  he  was  more 
quiet  there,  and  at  last  fell  into  a  sort  of  stupor 
as  if  he  were  going  to  die.  I  don't  know  what 
became  of  him,  for  we  put  him  ashore  alive  and 
left  him  in  the  hospital. 

The  men  came  aft  in  a  body,  quiet  enough, 
and  asked  the  captain  if  he  wouldn't  pay  them 
off,  and  let  them  go  ashore.  Some  men  wouldn't 
have  done  it,  for  they  had  shipped  for  the  voyage, 
and  had  signed  articles.  But  the  captain  knew 
that  when  sailors  get  an  idea  into  their  heads, 
they're  no  better  than  children ;  and  if  he  forced 
them  to  stay  aboard,  he  wouldn't  get  much  work 
out  of  them,  and  couldn't  rely  on  them  in  a 
difficulty.  So  he  paid  them  off,  and  let  them  go. 


142  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

When  they  had  gone  forward  to  get  their  kits,  he 
asked  me  whether  I  wanted  to  go,  too,  and  for  a 
minute  I  had  a  sort  of  weak  feeling  that  I  might 
just  as  well.  But  I  didn't,  and  he  was  a  good 
friend  to  me  afterwards.  Perhaps  he  wras  grateful 
to  me  for  sticking  to  him. 

When  the  men  went  off  he  didn't  come  on  deck; 
but  it  was  my  duty  to  stand  by  while  they  left  the 
ship.  They  owed  me  a  grudge  for  making  them 
work  during  the  last  few  days,  and  most  of  them 
dropped  into  the  boat  without  so  much  as  a  word 
or  a  look,  as  sailors  will.  Jack  Benton  was  the 
last  to  go  over  the  side,  and  he  stood  still  a  minute 
and  looked  at  me,  and  his  white  face  twitched.  I 
thought  he  wanted  to  say  something. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,  Jack,"  said  I.    "  So  long ! " 

It  seemed  as  if  he  couldn't  speak  for  two  or  three 
seconds  ;  then  his  words  came  thick. 

"It  wasn't  my  fault,  Mr.  Torkeldsen.  I  swear 
it  wasn't  my  fault !  " 

That  was  all;  and  he  dropped  over  the  side, 
leaving  me  to  wonder  what  he  meant. 

The  captain  and  I  stayed  on  board,  and  the  ship- 
chandler  got  a  West  India  boy  to  cook  for  us. 

That  evening,  before  turning  in,  we  were  stand 
ing  by  the  rail  having  a  quiet  smoke,  watching  the 
lights  of  the  city,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  reflected 
in  the  still  water.  There  was  music  of  some  sort 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  143 

ashore,  in  a  sailors'  dance-house,  I  daresay ;  and  I 
had  no  doubt  that  most  of  the  men  who  had  left 
the  ship  were  there,  and  already  full  of  jiggy-jiggy* 
The  music  played  a  lot  of  sailors'  tunes  that  ran 
into  each  other,  and  we  could  hear  the  men's  voices 
in  the  chorus  now  and  then.  One  followed  an 
other,  and  then  it  was  "  Nancy  Lee,"  loud  and 
clear,  and  the  men  singing  "  Yo-ho,  heave-ho  !  " 

"  I  have  no  ear  for  music,"  said  Captain  Hack- 
staff,  "but  it  appears  to  me  that's  the  tune  that 
man  was  whistling  the  night  we  lost  the  man  over 
board.  I  don't  know  why  it  has  stuck  in  my  head, 
and  of  course  it's  all  nonsense;  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  have  heard  it  all  the  rest  of  the  trip." 

I  didn't  say  anything  to  that,  but  I  wondered 
just  how  much  the  Old  Man  had  understood.  Then 
wre  turned  in,  and  I  slept  ten  hours  without  open 
ing  my  eyes. 

I  stuck  to  the  Helen  B.  Jackson  after  that  as 
long  as  I  could  stand  a  f ore-and-af ter ;  but  that 
night  when  we  lay  in  Havana  was  the  last  time  I 
ever  heard  "Nancy  Lee"  on  board  of  her.  The 
spare  hand  had  gone  ashore  with  the  rest,  and  he 
never  came  back,  and  he  took  his  tune  with  him; 
but  all  those  things  are  just  as  clear  in  my  memory 
as  if  they  had  happened  yesterday. 

After  that  I  was  in  deep  water  for  a  year  or 
more,  and  after  I  came  home  I  got  my  certificate, 


144  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

and  what  with  having  friends  and  having  saved  a 
little  money,  and  having  had  a  small  legacy  from 
an  uncle  in  Norway,  I  got  the  command  of  a  coast 
wise  vessel,  with  a  small  share  in  her.  I  was  at 
home  three  weeks  before  going  to  sea,  and  Jack 
Benton  saw  my  name  in  the  local  papers,  and 
wrote  to  me. 

He  said  that  he  had  left  the  sea,  and  was  trying 
farming,  and  he  was  going  to  be  married,  and  he 
asked  if  I  wouldn't  come  over  for  that,  for  it  wasn't 
more  than  forty  minutes  by  train;  and  he  and 
Mamie  would  be  proud  to  have  me  at  the  wedding. 
I  remembered  how  I  had  heard  one  brother  ask  the 
other  whether  Mamie  knew.  That  meant,  whether 
she  knew  he  wanted  to  marry  her,  I  suppose.  She 
had  taken  her  time  about  it.  for  it  was  pretty 
nearly  three  years  then  since  we  had  lost  Jim  Ben- 
ton  overboard. 

I  had  nothing  particular  to  do  while  we  were 
getting  ready  for  sea;  nothing  to  prevent  me  from 
going  over  for  a  day,  I  mean ;  and  I  thought  I'd 
like  to  see  Jack  Benton,  and  have  a  look  at  the  girl 
he  was  going  to  marry.  I  wondered  whether  he 
had  grown  cheerful  again,  and  had  got  rid  of  that 
drawn  look  he  had  when  he  told  me  it  wasn't  his 
fault.  How  could  it  have  been  his  fault,  anyhow? 
So  I  wrote  to  Jack  that  I  would  come  down  and 
see  him  married ;  and  when  the  day  came  I  took 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  145 

the  train  and  got  there  about  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  I  wish  I  hadn't.  Jack  met  me  at  the 
station,  and  he  told  me  that  the  wedding  was  to 
be  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  that  they  weren't  go 
ing  off  on  any  silly  wedding  trip,  he  and  Mamie, 
but  were  just  going  to  walk  home  from  her 
mother's  house  to  his  cottage.  That  was  good 
enough  for  him,  he  said.  I  looked  at  him  hard  for 
a  minute  after  we  met.  When  we  had  parted  I 
had  a  sort  of  idea  that  he  might  take  to  drink,  but 
he  hadn't.  He  looked  very  respectable  and  well- 
to-do  in  his  black  coat  and  high  city  collar ;  but  he 
was  thinner  and  bonier  than  when  I  had  known 
him,  and  there  were  lines  in  his  face,  and  I  thought 
his  eyes  had  a  queer  look  in  them,  half  shifty,  half 
scared.  He  needn't  have  been  afraid  of  me,  for  I 
didn't  mean  to  talk  to  his  bride  about  the  Helen  B. 
Jackson. 

He  took  me  to  his  cottage  first,  and  I  could  see 
that  he  was  proud  of  it.  It  wasn't  above  a  cable's 
length  from  high-water  mark,  but  the  tide  was 
running  out,  and  there  was  already  a  broad  stretch 
of  hard,  wet  sand  on  the  other  side  of  the  beach 
road.  Jack's  bit  of  land  ran  back  behind  the  cot 
tage  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  he  said  that 
some  of  the  trees  we  saw  were  his.  The  fences 
were  neat  and  well  kept,  and  there  was  a  fair-sized 
barn  a  little  way  from  the  cottage,  and  I  saw  some 


146  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

nice-looking  cattle  in  the  meadows ;  but  it  didn't 
look  to  me  to  be  much  of  a  farm,  and  I  thought  that 
before  long  Jack  would  have  to  leave  his  wife  to 
take  care  of  it,  and  go  to  sea  again.  But  I  said  it 
was  a  nice  farm,  so  as  to  seem  pleasant,  and  as  I  don't 
know  much  about  these  things,  I  daresay  it  was,  all 
the  same.  I  never  saw  it  but  that  once.  Jack 
told  me  that  he  and  his  brother  had  been  born  in 
the  cottage,  and  that  when  their  father  and  mother 
died  they  leased  the  land  to  Mamie's  father,  but 
had  kept  the  cottage  to  live  in  when  they  came 
home  from  sea  for  a  spell.  It  was  as  neat  a  little 
place  as  you  would  care  to  see :  the  floors  as  clean 
as  the  decks  of  a  yacht,  and  the  paint  as  fresh  as  a 
man-o'-war.  Jack  always  was  a  good  painter. 
There  was  a  nice  parlour  on  the  ground  floor,  and 
Jack  had  papered  it  and  had  hung  the  walls  with 
photographs  of  ships  and  foreign  ports,  and  with 
things  he  had  brought  home  from  his  voyages:  a 
boomerang,  a  South  Sea  club,  Japanese  straw  hats, 
and  a  Gibraltar  fan  with  a  bull-fight  on  it,  and  all 
that  sort  of  gear.  It  looked  to  me  as  if  Miss  Mamie 
had  taken  a  hand  in  arranging  it.  There  was  a 
brand-new  polished  iron  Franklin  stove  set  into  the 
old  fireplace,  and  a  red  table-cloth  from  Alexandria 
embroidered  with  those  outlandish  Egyptian  letters. 
It  was  all  as  bright  and  homelike  as  possible,  and 
he  showed  me  everything,  and  was  proud  of  every- 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  147 

thing,  and  I  liked  him  the  better  for  it.  But  I 
wished  that  his  voice  would  sound  more  cheerful, 
as  it  did  when  we  first  sailed  in  the  Helen  B.,  and 
that  the  drawn  look  would  go  out  of  his  face  for  a 
minute.  Jack  showed  me  everything,  and  took  me 
upstairs,  and  it  was  all  the  same :  bright  and  fresh 
and  ready  for  the  bride.  But  on  the  upper  landing 
there  was  a  door  that  Jack  didn't  open.  When  we 
came  out  of  the  bedroom  I  noticed  that  it  was  ajar, 
and  Jack  shut  it  quickly  and  turned  the  key. 

"That  lock's  no  good,"  he  said,  half  to  himself. 
"  The  door  is  always  open." 

I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  what  he  said, 
but  as  we  went  down  the  short  stairs,  freshly 
painted  and  varnished  so  that  I  was  almost  afraid 
to  step  on  them,  he  spoke  again. 

"  That  was  his  room,  sir.  I  have  made  a  sort 
of  store-room  of  it." 

"You  may  be  wanting  it  in  a  year  or  so,"  I 
said,  wishing  to  be  pleasant. 

"  I  guess  we  won't  use  his  room  for  that," 
Jack  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

Then  he  offered  me  a  cigar  from  a  fresh  box 
in  the  parlour,  and  he  took  one,  and  we  lit  them, 
and  went  out;  and  as  we  opened  the  front  door 
there  was  Mamie  Brewster  standing  in  the  path 
as  if  she  were  waiting  for  us.  She  was  a  fine- 
looking  girl,  and  I  didn't  wonder  that  Jack  had 


148  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

been  willing  to  wait  three  years  for  her.  I  could 
see  that  she  hadn't  been  brought  up  on  steam- 
heat  and  cold  storage,  but  had  grown  into  a 
woman  by  the  sea-shore.  She  had  brown  eyes, 
and  fine  brown  hair,  and  a  good  figure. 

"  This  is  Captain  Torkeldsen,"  said  Jack. 
"This  is  Miss  Brewster,  captain;  and  she  is 
glad  to  see  you." 

"Well,  I  am,"  said  Miss  Mamie,  "for  Jack 
has  often  talked  to  us  about  you,  captain." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  and  took  mine  and 
shook  it  heartily,  and  I  suppose  I  said  something, 
but  I  know  I  didn't  say  much. 

The  front  door  of  the  cottage  looked  toward 
the  sea,  and  there  was  a  straight  path  leading 
to  the  gate  on  the  beach  road.  There  was 
another  path  from  the  steps  of  the  cottage  that 
turned  to  the  right,  broad  enough  for  two 
people  to  walk  easily,  and  it  led  straight  across 
the  fields  through  gates  to  a  larger  house  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  That  was  where 
Mamie's  mother  lived,  and  the  wedding  was  to 
be  there.  Jack  asked  me  whether  I  would  like 
to  look  round  the  farm  before  dinner,  but  I  told 
him  I  didn't  know  much  about  farms.  Then  he 
said  he  just  wanted  to  look  round  himself  a  bit, 
as  he  mightn't  have  much  more  chance  that  day; 
and  he  smiled,  and  Mamie  laughed. 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  149 

"  Show  the  captain  the  way  to  the  house, 
Mamie,"  he  said.  "  I'll  be  along  in  a  minute." 

So  Mamie  and  I  began  to  walk  along  the  path, 
and  Jack  went  up  toward  the  barn. 

"  It  was  sweet  of  you  to  come,  captain,"  Miss 
Mamie  began,  "for  I  have  always  wanted  to 
see  you." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  expecting  something  more. 

"  You  see,  I  always  knew  them  both,"  she  went 
on.  "  They  used  to  take  me  out  in  a  dory  to  catch 
codfish  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  I  liked  them 
both,"  she  added  thoughtfully.  "  Jack  doesn't  care 
to  talk  about  his  brother  now.  That's  natural. 
But  you  won't  mind  telling  me  how  it  happened, 
will  you  ?  I  should  so  much  like  to  know." 

Well,  I  told  her  about  the  voyage  and  what 
happened  that  night  when  we  fell  in  with  a  gale 
of  wind,  and  that  it  hadn't  been  anybody's  fault, 
for  I  wasn't  going  to  admit  that  it  was  my  old 
captain's,  if  it  was.  But  I  didn't  tell  her  anything 
about  what  happened  afterwards.  As  she  didn't 
speak,  I  just  went  on  talking  about  the  two  brothers, 
and  how  like  they  had  been,  and  how  when  poor 
Jim  was  drowned  and  Jack  was  left,  I  took  Jack 
for  him.  I  told  her  that  none  of  us  had  ever 
been  sure  which  was  which. 

"  I  wasn't  always  sure  myself,"  she  said,  "  un 
less  they  were  together.  Leastways,  not  for  a  day 


150  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

or  two  after  they  came  home  from  sea.  And  now 
it  seems  to  me  that  Jack  is  more  like  poor  Jim,  as 
I  remember  him,  than  he  ever  was,  for  Jim  was 
always  more  quiet,  as  if  he  were  thinking.'1 

I  told  her  I  thought  so,  too.  We  passed  the 
gate  and  went  into  the  next  field,  walking  side  by 
side.  Then  she  turned  her  head  to  look  for  Jack, 
but  he  wasn't  in  sight.  I  shan't  forget  what  she 
said  next. 

"  Are  you  sure  now  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  stood  stock-still,  and  she  went  on  a  step,  and 
then  turned  and  looked  at  me.  We  must  have 
looked  at  each  other  while  you  could  count  five  or 
six. 

"  I  know  it's  silly,"  she  went  on,  "  it's  silly,  and 
it's  awful,  too,  and  I  have  got  no  right  to  think  it, 
but  sometimes  I  can't  help  it.  You  see  it  was 
always  Jack  I  meant  to  marry." 

"  Yes,"  I  said  stupidly,  "  I  suppose  so." 

She  waited  a  minute,  and  began  walking  on 
slowly  before  she  went  on  again. 

"I  am  talking  to  you  as  if  you  were  an  old 
friend,  captain,  and  I  have  only  known  you  five 
minutes.  It  was  Jack  I  meant  to  marry,  but  now 
he  is  so  like  the  other  one. 

When  a  woman  gets  a  wrong  idea  into  her  head, 
there  is  only  one  way  to  make  her  tired  of  it,  and 
that  is  to  agree  with  her.  That's  what  I  did,  and 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  151 

she  went  on  talking  the  same  way  for  a  little 
while,  and  I  kept  on  agreeing  and  agreeing  until 
she  turned  round  on  me. 

"You  know  you  don't  believe  what  you  say," 
she  said,  and  laughed.  "  You  know  that  Jack  is 
Jack,  right  enough ;  and  it's  Jack  I  am  going  to 
marry." 

Of  course  I  said  so,  for  I  didn't  care  whether 
she  thought  me  a  weak  creature  or  not.  I  wasn't 
going  to  say  a  word  that  could  interfere  with  her 
happiness,  and  I  didn't  intend  to  go  back  on  Jack 
Benton ;  but  I  remembered  what  he  had  said 
when  he  left  the  ship  in  Havana :  that  it  wasn't 
his  fault. 

"All  the  same,"  Miss  Mamie  went  on,  as  a 
woman  will,  without  realising  what  she  was  say 
ing,  "  all  the  same,  I  wish  I  had  seen  it  happen. 
Then  I  should  know-' 

Next  minute  she  knew  that  she  didn't  mean 
that,  and  was  afraid  that  I  would  think  her  heart 
less,  and  began  to  explain  that  she  would  really 
rather  have  died  herself  than  have  seen  poor  Jim 
go  overboard.  Women  haven't  got  much  sense, 
anyhow.  All  the  same,  I  wondered  how  she  could 
marry  Jack  if  she  had  a  doubt  that  he  might  be 
Jim  after  all.  I  suppose  she  had  really  got  used 
to  him  since  he  had  given  up  the  sea  and  had 
stayed  ashore,  and  she  cared  for  him. 


152  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Before  long  we  heard  Jack  coming  up  behind 
us,  for  we  had  walked  very  slowly  to  wait  for 
him. 

"  Promise  not  to  tell  anybody  what  I  said, 
captain,"  said  Mamie,  as  girls  do  as  soon  as  they 
have  told  their  secrets. 

Anyhow,  I  know  I  never  did  tell  any  one  but 
you.  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  talked  of  all 
that,  the  first  time  since  I  took  the  train  from 
that  place.  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  all  about 
the  day.  Miss  Mamie  introduced  me  to  her 
mother,  who  was  a  quiet,  hard-faced  old  New 
England  farmer's  widow,  and  to  her  cousins  and 
relations ;  and  there  were  plenty  of  them,  too,  at 
dinner,  and  there  was  the  parson  besides.  He  was 
what  they  call  a  Hard-shell  Baptist  in  those  parts, 
with  a  long,  shaven  upper  lip  and  a  whacking 
appetite,  and  a  sort  of  superior  look,  as  if  he  didn't 
expect  to  see  many  of  us  hereafter  —  the  way  a 
New  York  pilot  looks  round,  and  orders  things 
about  when  he  boards  an  Italian  cargo-dragger, 
as  if  the  ship  weren't  up  to  much  anyway,  though 
it  was  his  business  to  see  that  she  didn't  get 
aground.  That's  the  way  a  good  many  parsons 
look,  I  think.  He  said  grace  as  if  he  were  order 
ing  the  men  to  sheet  home  the  topgallant-sail  and 
get  the  helm  up.  After  dinner  we  went  out  on 
the  piazza,  for  it  was  warm  autumn  weather ;  and 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  153 

the  young  folks  went  off  in  pairs  along  the  beach 
road,  and  the  tide  had  turned  and  was  beginning 
to  come  in.  The  morning  had  been  clear  and  fine, 
but  by  four  o'clock  it  began  to  look  like  a  fog,  and 
the  damp  came  up  out  of  the  sea  and  settled  on 
everything.  Jack  said  he'd  go  down  to  his  cot 
tage  and  have  a  last  look,  for  the  wedding  was  to 
be  at  five  o'clock,  or  soon  after,  and  he  wanted  to 
light  the  lights,  so  as  to  have  things  look  cheer 
ful. 

"  I  will  just  take  a  last  look,"  he  said  again,  as  we 
reached  the  house.  We  went  in,  and  he  offered  me 
another  cigar,  and  I  lit  it  and  sat  down  in  the  par 
lour.  I  could  hear  him  moving  about,  first  in  the 
kitchen  and  then  upstairs,  and  then  I  heard  him  in 
the  kitchen  again  ;  and  then  before  I  knew  anything 
I  heard  somebody  moving  upstairs  again.  I  knew  he 
couldn't  have  got  up  those  stairs  as  quick  as  that. 
He  came  into  the  parlour,  and  he  took  a  cigar  him 
self,  and  while  he  was  lighting  it  I  heard  those  steps 
again  overhead.  His  hand  shook,  and  he  dropped 
the  match. 

"  Have  you  got  in  somebody  to  help  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  No,"  Jack  answered  sharply,  and  struck 
another  match. 

"  There's  somebody  upstairs,  Jack,"  I  said. 
"Don't  you  hear  footsteps?" 


154  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  It's  the  wind,  captain,"  Jack  answered  ;  but 
I  could  see  he  was  trembling. 

"That  isn't  any  wind,  Jack/'  I  said;  "it's 
still  and  foggy.  I'm  sure  there's  somebody  up 
stairs." 

"If  you  are  so  sure  of  it,  you'd  better  go  and 
see  for  yourself,  captain,"  Jack  answered,  almost 
angrily. 

He  was  angry  because  he  was  frightened.  I 
left  him  before  the  fireplace,  and  went  upstairs. 
There  was  no  power  on  earth  that  could  make 
me  believe  I  hadn't  heard  a  man's  footsteps  over 
head.  I  knew  there  was  somebody  there.  But 
there  wasn't.  I  went  into  the  bedroom,  and  it 
was  all  quiet,  and  the  evening  light  was  stream 
ing  in,  reddish  through  the  foggy  air ;  and  I 
went  out  on  the  landing  and  looked  in  the  little 
back  room  that  was  meant  for  a  servant-girl  or 
a  child.  And  as  I  came  back  again  I  saw  that 
the  door  of  the  other  room  was  wide  open,  though 
I  knew  Jack  had  locked  it.  He  had  said  the 
lock  wras  no  good.  I  looked  in.  It  was  a  room 
as  big  as  the  bedroom,  but  almost  dark,  for  it 
had  shutters,  and  they  were  closed.  There  was 
a  musty  smell,  as  of  old  gear,  and  I  could  make 
out  that  the  floor  was  littered  with  sea-chests, 
and  that  there  were  oilskins  and  such  stuff  piled 
on  the  bed.  But  I  still  believed  that  there  was 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  155 

somebody  upstairs,  and  I  went  in  and  struck  a 
match  and  looked  round.  I  could  see  the  four 
walls  and  the  shabby  old  paper,  an  iron  bed 
and  a  cracked  looking-glass,  and  the  stuff  on  the 
floor.  But  there  was  nobody  there.  So  I  put 
out  the  match,  and  came  out  and  shut  the  door 
and  turned  the  key.  Now,  what  I  am  telling 
you  is  the  truth.  When  I  had  turned  the  key, 
I  heard  footsteps  walking  away  from  the  door 
inside  the  room.  Then  I  felt  queer  for  a  minute, 
and  when  I  went  downstairs  I  looked  behind 
me,  as  the  men  at  the  wheel  used  to  look  behind 
them  on  board  the  Helen  B. 

Jack  wras  already  outside  on  the  steps,  smoking. 
I  have  an  idea  that  he  didn't  like  to  stay  inside 
alone. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  asked,  trying  to  seem  careless. 

"I  didn't  find  anybody,"  I  answered,  "but  I 
heard  somebody  moving  about." 

"  I  told  you  it  was  the  wind,"  said  Jack  con 
temptuously.  "  I  ought  to  know,  for  I  live  here, 
and  I  hear  it  often." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  said  to  that,  so  we 
began  to  walk  down  toward  the  beach.  Jack 
said  there  wTasn't  any  hurry,  as  it  would  take 
Miss  Mamie  some  time  to  dress  for  the  wedding. 
So  we  strolled  along,  and  the  sun  was  setting 
through  the  fog,  and  the  tide  was  coming  in. 


156  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

I  knew  the  moon  was  full,  and  that  when  she 
rose  the  fog  would  roll  away  from  the  land,  as 
it  does  sometimes.  I  felt  that  Jack  didn't  like 
my  having  heard  that  noise,  so  I  talked  of  other 
things,  and  asked  him  about  his  prospects,  and 
before  long  we  were  chatting  as  pleasantly  as 
possible. 

I  haven't  been  at  many  weddings  in  my  life, 
and  I  don't  suppose  you  have,  but  that  one 
seemed  to  me  to  be  all  right  until  it  was  pretty 
near  over ;  and  then,  I  don't  know  whether  it 
was  part  of  the  ceremony  or  not,  but  Jack  put 
out  his  hand  and  took  Mamie's  and  held  it  a 
minute,  and  looked  at  her,  while  the  parson  was 
still  speaking. 

Mamie  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet  and  screamed. 
It  wasn't  a  loud  scream,  but  just  a  sort  of  stifled 
little  shriek,  as  if  she  were  half  frightened  to 
death ;  and  the  parson  stopped,  and  asked  her 
what  was  the  matter,  and  the  family  gathered 
round. 

"Your  hand's  like  ice,"  said  Mamie  to  Jack, 
"  and  it's  all  wet !  " 

She  kept  looking  at  it,  as  she  got  hold  of  herself 
again. 

"  It  don't  feel  cold  to  me,"  said  Jack,  and  he 
held  the  back  of  his  hand  against  his  cheek. 
"  Try  it  again." 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  157 

Mamie  held  out  hers,  and  touched  the  back 
of  his  hand,  timidly  at  first,  and  then  took  hold 
of  it. 

66  Why,  that's  funny,'*  she  said. 

"  She's  been  as  nervous  as  a  witch  all  day/'  said 
Mrs.  Brewster  severely. 

"  It  is  natural,"  said  the  parson,  "  that  young 
Mrs.  Benton  should  experience  a  little  agitation 
at  such  a  moment." 

Most  of  the  bride's  relations  lived  at  a  distance, 
and  were  busy  people,  so  it  had  been  arranged 
that  the  dinner  we'd  had  in  the  middle  of  the 
day  was  to  take  the  place  of  a  dinner  after 
wards,  and  that  we  should  just  have  a  bite  after 
the  wedding  was  over,  and  then  that  everybody 
should  go  home,  and  the  young  couple  would 
walk  down  to  the  cottage  by  themselves.  When 
I  looked  out  I  could  see  the  light  burning  brightly 
in  Jack's  cottage,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  I 
said  I  didn't  think  I  could  get  any  train  to  take 
me  back  before  half-past  nine,  but  Mrs.  Brewster 
begged  me  to  stay  until  it  was  time,  as  she  said 
her  daughter  would  want  to  take  off  her  wedding 
dress  before  she  went  home ;  for  she  had  put 
on  something  white  with  a  wreath  that  was  very 
pretty,  and  she  couldn't  walk  home  like  that, 
could  she  ? 

So  when  we  had  all  had  a  little  supper  the  party 


158  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

began  to  break  up,  and  when  they  were  all  gone 
Mrs.  Brewster  and  Mamie  went  upstairs,  and  Jack 
and  I  went  out  on  the  piazza  to  have  a  smoke,  as 
the  old  lady  didn't  like  tobacco  in  the  house. 

The  full  moon  had  risen  now,  and  it  was  behind 
me  as  I  looked  down  toward  Jack's  cottage,  so 
that  everything  was  clear  and  white,  and  there 
was  only  the  light  burning  in  the  window.  The 
fog  had  rolled  down  to  the  water's  edge,  and  a 
little  beyond,  for  the  tide  was  high,  or  nearly,  and 
was  lapping  up  over  the  last  reach  of  sand  within 
fifty  feet  of  the  beach  road. 

Jack  didn't  say  much  as  we  sat  smoking,  but  he 
thanked  me  for  coming  to  his  wedding,  and  I  told 
him  I  hoped  he  would  be  happy,  and  so  I  did.  I 
daresay  both  of  us  were  thinking  of  those  footsteps 
upstairs,  just  then,  and  that  the  house  wouldn't 
seem  so  lonely  with  a  woman  in  it.  By  and  by 
we  heard  Mamie's  voice  talking  to  her  mother  on 
the  stairs,  and  in  a  minute  she  was  ready  to  go. 
She  had  put  on  again  the  dress  she  had  worn  in 
the  morning. 

Well,  they  were  ready  to  go  now.  It  was  all 
very  quiet  after  the  day's  excitement,  and  I  knew 
they  would  like  to  walk  down  that  path  alone  now 
that  they  were  man  and  wife  at  last.  I  bade  them 
good-night,  although  Jack  made  a  show  of  press 
ing  me  to  go  with  them  by  the  path  as  far  as  the 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  159 

cottage,  instead  of  going  to  the  station  by  the 
beach  road.  It  was  all  very  quiet,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  a  sensible  way  of  getting  married ;  and  when 
Mamie  kissed  her  mother  good-night,  I  just  looked 
the  other  way,  and  knocked  my  ashes  over  the 
rail  of  the  piazza.  So  they  started  down  the 
straight  path  to  Jack's  cottage,  and  I  waited  a 
minute  with  Mrs.  Brewster,  looking  after  them, 
before  taking  my  hat  to  go.  They  walked  side 
by  side,  a  little  shyly  at  first,  and  then  I  saw  Jack 
put  his  arm  round  her  waist.  As  I  looked  he 
was  on  her  left  and  I  saw  the  outline  of  the  two 
figures  very  distinctly  against  the  moonlight  on 
the  path ;  and  the  shadow  on  Mamie's  right  was 
broad  and  black  as  ink,  and  it  moved  along, 
lengthening  and  shortening  with  the  unevenness  of 
the  ground  beside  the  path. 

I  thanked  Mrs.  Brewster,  and  bade  her  good 
night  ;  and  though  she  was  a  hard  New  England 
woman,  her  voice  trembled  a  little  as  she  answered, 
but  being  a  sensible  person,  she  went  in  and  shut 
the  door  behind  her  as  I  stepped  out  on  the  path. 
I  looked  after  the  couple  in  the  distance  a  last 
time,  meaning  to  go  down  to  the  road,  so  as  not 
to  overtake  them ;  but  when  I  had  made  a  few 
steps  I  stopped  and  looked  again,  for  I  knew  I 
had  seen  something  queer,  though  I  had  only 
realised  it  afterwards.  I  looked  again,  and  it  was 


160  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

plain  enough  now  ;  and  I  stood  stock-still,  staring 
at  what  I  saw.  Mamie  was  walking  between  two 
men.  The  second  man  was  just  the  same  height 
as  Jack,  both  being  about  a  half  a  head  taller  than 
she ;  Jack  en  her  left  in  his  black  tail-coat  and 
round  hat,  and  the  other  man  on  her  right —  well, 
he  was  a  sailor-man  in  wet  oilskins.  I  could  see 
the  moonlight  shining  on  the  water  that  ran  down 
him,  and  on  the  little  puddle  that  had  settled 
where  the  flap  of  his  sou'wester  was  turned  up  be 
hind  :  and  one  of  his  wet,  shiny  arms  was  round 
Mamie's  waist,  just  above  Jack's.  I  was  fast  to 
the  spot  where  I  stood,  and  for  a  minute  I  thought 
I  was  crazy.  We'd  had  nothing  but  some  cider 
for  dinner,  and  tea  in  the  evening,  otherwise  I'd 
have  thought  something  had  got  into  rny  head, 
though  I  was  never  drunk  in  my  life.  It  was 
more  like  a  bad  dream  after  that. 

I  was  glad  Mrs.  Brewster  had  gone  in.  As  for 
me,  I  couldn't  help  following  the  three,  in  a  sort  of 
wonder  to  see  what  would  happen,  to  see  whether 
the  sailor-man  in  his  wet  togs  would  just  melt  away 
into  the  moonshine.  But  he  didn't. 

I  moved  slowly,  and  I  remembered  afterwards 
that  I  walked  on  the  grass,  instead  of  on  the  path, 
as  if  I  were  afraid  they  might  hear  me  coining.  I 
suppose  it  all  happened  in  less  than  five  minutes 
after  that,  but  it  seemed  as  if  it  must  have  taken 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  161 

an  hour.  Neither  Jack  nor  Mamie  seemed  to  no 
tice  the  sailor.  She  didn't  seem  to  know  that  his 
wet  arm  was  round  her,  and  little  by  little  they 
got  near  the  cottage,  and  I  wasn't  a  hundred  yards 
from  them  when  they  reached  the  door.  Some 
thing  made  me  stand  still  then.  Perhaps  it  was 
fright,  for  I  saw  everything  that  happened  just  as 
I  see  you  now. 

Mamie  set  her  foot  on  the  step  to  go  up,  and  as 
she  went  forward,  I  saw  the  sailor  slowly  lock  his 
arm  in  Jack's,  and  Jack  didn't  move  to  go  up. 
Then  Mamie  turned  round  on  the  step,  and  they 
all  three  stood  that  way  for  a  second  or  two.  She 
cried  out  then  —  I  heard  a  man  cry  like  that  once, 
when  his  arm  was  taken  off  by  a  steam-crane  — 
and  she  fell  back  in  a  heap  on  the  little  piazza. 

I  tried  to  jump  forward,  but  I  couldn't  move, 
and  I  felt  my  hair  rising  under  my  hat.  The  sailor 
turned  slowly  where  he  stood,  and  swung  Jack 
round  by  the  arm  steadily  and  easily,  and  began  to 
walk  him  down  the  pathway  from  the  house.  He 
walked  him  straight  down  that  path,  as  steadily  as 
Fate ;  and  all  the  time  I  saw  the  moonlight  shin 
ing  on  his  wet  oilskins.  He  walked  him  through 
the  gate,  and  across  the  beach  road,  and  out  upon 
the  wet  sand,  where  the  tide  was  high.  Then  I 
got  my  breath  with  a  gulp,  and  ran  for  them  across 
the  grass,  and  vaulted  over  the  fence,  and  stumbled 


162  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

across  the  road.  But  when  I  felt  the  sand  under 
my  feet,  the  two  were  at  the  water's  edge ;  and 
when  I  reached  the  water  they  were  far  out,  and  up 
to  their  waists  ;  and  I  saw  that  Jack  Benton's  head 
had  fallen  forward  on  his  breast,  and  his  free  arm 
hung  limp  beside  him,  while  his  dead  brother  stead 
ily  marched  him  to  his  death.  The  moonlight  was 
on  the  dark  water,  but  the  fog-bank  was  white  be 
yond,  and  I  saw  them  against  it ;  and  they  went 
slowly  and  steadily  down.  The  water  was  up  to 
their  armpits,  and  then  up  to  their  shoulders,  and 
then  I  saw  it  rise  up  to  the  black  rim  of  Jack's  hat. 
But  they  never  wavered  ;  and  the  two  heads  went 
straight  on,  straight  on,  till  they  were  under,  and 
there  was  just  a  ripple  in  the  moonlight  where 
Jack  had  been. 

It  has  been  on  my  mind  to  tell  you  that 
story,  whenever  I  got  a  chance.  You  have 
known  me,  man  and  boy,  a  good  many  years; 
and  I  thought  I  would  like  to  hear  your  opinion. 
Yes,  that's  what  I  always  thought.  It  wasn't 
Jim  that  went  overboard ;  it  was  Jack,  and 
Jim  just  let  him  go  when  he  might  have  saved 
him ;  and  then  Jim  passed  himself  off  for  Jack 
with  us,  and  with  the  girl.  If  that's  what 
happened,  he  got  what  he  deserved.  People 
said  the  next  day  that  Mamie  found  it  out  as 
they  reached  the  house,  and  that  her  husband 


MAN  OVERBOARD!  163 

just  walked  out  into  the  sea,  and  drowned  him 
self;  and  they  would  have  blamed  me  for  not 
stopping  him  if  they'd  known  that  I  was  there. 
But  I  never  told  what  I  had  seen,  for  they  wouldn't 
have  believed  me.  I  just  let  them  think  I  had 
come  too  late. 

When  I  reached  the  cottage  and  lifted  Mamie 
up,  she  was  raving  mad.  She  got  better  after 
wards,  but  she  wras  never  right  in  her  head 
again. 

Oh,  you  want  to  know  if  they  found  Jack's 
body  ?  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  his,  but 
I  read  in  a  paper  at  a  Southern  port  where  I 
was  with  my  new  ship  that  two  dead  bodies 
had  come  ashore  in  a  gale  down  East,  in  pretty 
bad  shape.  They  were  locked  together,  and  one 
was  a  skeleton  in  oilskins. 


FOR  THE   BLOOD   IS   THE   LIFE 


FOR   THE   BLOOD   IS   THE   LIFE 

WE  had  dined  at  sunset  on  the  broad  roof  of 
the  old  tower,  because  it  was  cooler  there  dur 
ing  the  great  heat  of  summer.  Besides,  the 
little  kitchen  was  built  at  one  corner  of  the 
great  square  platform,  which  made  it  more  con 
venient  than  if  the  dishes  had  to  be  carried 
down  the  steep  stone  steps,  broken  in  places 
and  everywhere  worn  with  age.  The  tower  was 
one  of  those  built  all  down  the  wrest  coast  of 
Calabria  by  the  Emperor  Charles  V.  early  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  to  keep  off  the  Barbary  pirates, 
when  the  unbelievers  were  allied  with  Francis  I. 
against  the  Emperor  and  the  Church.  They  have 
gone  to  ruin,  a  few  still  stand  intact,  and  mine  is 
one  of  the  largest.  How  it  came  into  my  pos 
session  ten  years  ago,  and  why  I  spend  a  part 
of  each  year  in  it,  are  matters  which  do  not  con 
cern  this  tale.  The  tower  stands  in  one  of  the 
loneliest  spots  in  Southern  Italy,  at  the  extremity 
of  a  curving  rocky  promontory,  which  forms  a 
small  but  safe  natural  harbour  at  the  southern 
extremity  of  the  Gulf  of  Policastro,  and  just 
north  of  Cape  Scalea,  the  birthplace  of  Judas 

167 


168  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Iscariot,  according  to  the  old  local  legend.  The 
tower  stands  alone  on  this  hooked  spur  of  the 
rock,  and  there  is  not  a  house  to  be  seen  within 
three  miles  of  it.  When  I  go  there  I  take  a  couple 
of  sailors,  one  of  whom  is  a  fair  cook,  and  when 
I  am  away  it  is  in  charge  of  a  gnome-like  little 
being  who  was  once  a  miner  and  who  attached 
himself  to  me  long  ago. 

My  friend,  who  sometimes  visits  me  in  my 
summer  solitude,  is  an  artist  by  profession,  a 
Scandinavian  by  birth,  and  a  cosmopolitan  by 
force  of  circumstances.  We  had  dined  at  sun 
set;  the  sunset  glow  had  reddened  and  faded 
again,  and  the  evening  purple  steeped  the  vast 
chain  of  the  mountains  that  embrace  the  deep 
gulf  to  eastward  and  rear  themselves  higher  and 
higher  toward  the  south.  It  was  hot,  and  we  sat 
at  the  landward  corner  of  the  platform,  waiting 
for  the  night  breeze  to  come  down  from  the  lower 
hills.  The  colour  sank  out  of  the  air,  there  was  a 
little  interval  of  deep-grey  twilight,  and  a  lamp 
sent  a  yellow  streak  from  the  open  door  of  the 
kitchen,  where  the  men  were  getting  their  supper. 

Then  the  moon  rose  suddenly  above  the  crest 
of  the  promontory,  flooding  the  platform  and 
lighting  up  every  little  spur  of  rock  and  knoll 
of  grass  below  us,  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
motionless  water.  My  friend  lighted  his  pipe 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  169 

and  sat  looking  at  a  spot  on  the  hillside.  I  knew 
that  he  was  looking  at  it,  and  for  a  long  time  past 
I  had  wondered  whether  he  would  ever  see  anything 
there  that  would  fix  his  attention.  I  knew  that  spot 
well.  It  was  clear  that  he  was  interested  at  last, 
though  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  spoke.  Like 
most  painters,  he  trusts  to  his  own  eyesight,  as  a 
lion  trusts  his  strength  and  a  stag  his  speed,  and  he 
is  always  disturbed  when  he  cannot  reconcile  what 
he  sees  with  what  he  believes  that  he  ought  to  see. 

"  It's  strange,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  see  that  little 
mound  just  on  this  side  of  the  boulder  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  and  I  guessed  what  was  coming. 

"  It  looks  like  a  grave,"  observed  Holger. 

"  Very  true.     It  does  look  like  a  grave." 

"  Yes,"  continued  my  friend,  his  eyes  still  fixed 
on  the  spot.  "  But  the  strange  thing  is  that  I  see 
the  body  lying  on  the  top  of  it.  Of  course,"  con 
tinued  Holger,  turning  his  head  on  one  side  as 
artists  do,  "  it  must  be  an  effect  of  light.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  not  a  grave  at  all.  Secondly,  if  it 
were,  the  body  would  be  inside  and  not  outside. 
Therefore,  it's  an  effect  of  the  moonlight.  Don't 
you  see  it  ?  " 

"  Perfectly ;  I  always  see  it  on  moonlight 
nights." 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  interest  you  much,"  said 
Holger. 


170  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  does  interest  me,  though  I 
am  used  to  it.  You're  not  so  far  wrong,  either. 
The  mound  is  really  a  grave." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  cried  Holger,  incredulously.  "  I 
suppose  you'll  tell  me  what  I  see  lying  on  it  is 
really  a  corpse  !  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  it's  not.  I  know,  because  I 
have  taken  the  trouble  to  go  down  and  see." 

"  Then  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  Holger. 

"  It's  nothing." 

"  You  mean  that  it's  an  effect  of  light,  I  sup 
pose  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  But  the  inexplicable  part  of  the 
matter  is  that  it  makes  no  difference  whether  the 
moon  is  rising  or  setting,  or  waxing  or  waning. 
If  there's  any  moonlight  at  all,  from  east  or  west 
or  overhead,  so  long  as  it  shines  on  the  grave  you 
can  see  the  outline  of  the  body  on  top." 

Holger  stirred  up  his  pipe  with  the  point  of  his 
knife,  and  then  used  his  finger  for  a  stopper.  When 
the  tobacco  burned  well  he  rose  from  his  chair. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said,  "  I'll  go  down  and 
take  a  look  at  it." 

He  left  me,  crossed  the  roof,  and  disappeared 
down  the  dark  steps.  I  did  not  move,  but  sat 
looking  down  until  he  came  out  of  the  tower  below. 
I  heard  him  humming  an  old  Danish  song  as  he 
crossed  the  open  space  in  the  bright  moonlight, 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  171 

going  straight  to  the  mysterious  mound.  When  he 
was  ten  paces  from  it,  Holger  stopped  short,  made 
two  steps  forward,  and  then  three  or  four  back 
ward,  and  then  stopped  again.  I  know  what  that 
meant.  He  had  reached  the  spot  where  the  Thing 
ceased  to  be  visible  —  where,  as  he  would  have 
said,  the  effect  of  light  changed. 

Then  he  went  on  till  he  reached  the  mound  and 
stood  upon  it.  I  could  see  the  Thing  still,  but  it 
was  no  longer  lying  down ;  it  was  on  its  knees 
now,  winding  its  white  arms  round  Holger's  body 
and  looking  up  into  his  face.  A  cool  breeze  stirred 
my  hair  at  that  moment,  as  the  night  wind  began 
to  come  down  from  the  hills,  but  it  felt  like  a 
breath  from  another  world. 

The  Thing  seemed  to  be  trying  to  climb  to  its  feet, 
helping  itself  up  by  Holger's  body  while  he  stood 
upright,  quite  unconscious  of  it  and  apparently 
looking  toward  the  tower,  which  is  very  picturesque 
when  the  moonlight  falls  upon  it  on  that  side. 

"Come  along!"  I  shouted.  "Don't  stay  there 
all  night ! " 

It  seemed  to  me  that  he  moved  reluctantly  as  he 
stepped  from  the  mound,  or  else  with  difficulty. 
That  was  it.  The  Thing's  arms  were  still  round 
his  waist,  but  its  feet  could  not  leave  the  grave. 
As  he  came  slowly  forward  it  was  drawn  and 
lengthened  like  a  wreath  of  mist,  thin  and  white, 


172  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

till  I  saw  distinctly  that  Holger  shook  himself,  as 
a  man  does  who  feels  a  chill.  At  the  same  instant 
a  little  wail  of  pain  came  to  me  on  the  breeze  —  it 
might  have  been  the  cry  of  the  small  owl  that 
lives  among  the  rocks  —  and  the  misty  presence 
floated  swiftly  back  from  Holger's  advancing  figure 
and  lay  once  more  at  its  length  upon  the  mound. 

Again  I  felt  the  cool  breeze  in  my  hair,  and  this 
time  an  icy  thrill  of  dread  ran  down  my  spine. 
I  remembered  very  well  that  I  had  once  gone  down 
there  alone  in  the  moonlight ;  that  presently,  being 
near,  I  had  seen  nothing ;  that,  like  Holger,  I  had 
gone  and  had  stood  upon  the  mound ;  and  I  re 
membered  how,  when  I  came  back,  sure  that  there 
was  nothing  there,  I  had  felt  the  sudden  conviction 
that  there  was  something  after  all  if  I  would  only 
look  behind  me.  I  remembered  the  strong  tempta 
tion  to  look  back,  a  temptation  I  had  resisted  as 
unworthy  of  a  man  of  sense,  until,  to  get  rid  of  it, 
I  had  shaken  myself  just  as  Holger  did. 

And  now  I  knew  that  those  white,  misty  arms 
had  been  round  me  too ;  I  knew  it  in  a  flash,  and 
I  shuddered  as  I  remembered  that  I  had  heard  the 
night  owl  then  too.  But  it  had  not  been  the 
night  owl.  It  was  the  cry  of  the  Thing. 

I  refilled  my  pipe  and  poured  out  a  cup  of 
strong  southern  wine ;  in  less  than  a  minute  Hol 
ger  was  seated  beside  me  again. 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  173 

"  Of  course  there's  nothing  there/'  he  said,  "  but 
it's  creepy,  all  the  same.  Do  you  know,  when 
I  was  coming  back  I  was  so  sure  that  there  was 
something  behind  me  that  I  wanted  to  turn  round 
and  look  ?  It  was  an  effort  not  to." 

He  laughed  a  little,  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe,  and  poured  himself  out  some  wine.  For  a  while 
neither  of  us  spoke,  and  the  moon  rose  higher,  and  we 
both  looked  at  the  Thing  that  lay  on  the  mound. 

"You  might  make  a  story  about  that,"  said 
Holger  after  a  long  time. 

"  There  is  one,"  I  answered.  "  If  you're  not 
sleepy,  I'll  tell  it  to  you." 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  Holger,  who  likes  stories* 

Old  Alario  was  dying  up  there  in  the  village 
behind  the  hill.  You  remember  him,  I  have  no 
doubt.  They  say  that  he  made  his  money  by 
selling  sham  jewellery  in  South  America,  and 
escaped  with  his  gains  when  he  was  found  out. 
Like  all  those  fellows,  if  they  bring  anything 
back  with  them,  he  at  once  set  to  work  to  en 
large  his  house,  and  as  there  are  no  masons  here, 
he  sent  all  the  way  to  Paola  for  two  workmen. 
They  were  a  rough-looking  pair  of  scoundrels 
-a  Neapolitan  who  had  lost  one  eye  and  a 
Sicilian  with  an  old  scar  half  an  inch  deep  across 
his  left  cheek.  I  often  saw  them,  for  on  Sun- 


174  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

days  they  used  to  come  down  here  and  fish  off 
the  rocks.  When  Alario  caught  the  fever  that 
killed  him  the  masons  were  still  at  work.  As 
he  had  agreed  that  part  of  their  pay  should  be 
their  board  and  lodging,  he  made  them  sleep 
in  the  house.  His  wife  was  dead,  and  he  had 
an  only  son  called  Angelo,  who  was  a  much 
better  sort  than  himself.  Angelo  was  to  marry 
the  daughter  of  the  richest  man  in  the  village, 
and,  strange  to  say,  though  the  marriage  was 
arranged  by  their  parents,  the  young  people  were 
said  to  be  in  love  with  each  other. 

For  that  matter,  the  whole  village  was  in  love 
with  Angelo,  and  among  the  rest  a  wild,  good- 
looking  creature  called  Crist ina,  who  was  more 
like  a  gipsy  than  any  girl  I  ever  saw  about 
here.  She  had  very  red  lips  and  very  black 
eyes,  she  was  built  like  a  greyhound,  and  had 
the  tongue  of  the  devil.  But  Angelo  did  not 
care  a  straw  for  her.  He  was  rather  a  simple- 
minded  fellow,  quite  different  from  his  old  scoun 
drel  of  a  father,  and  under  what  I  should  call 
normal  circumstances  I  really  believe  that  he 
would  never  have  looked  at  any  girl  except  the 
nice  plump  little  creature,  with  a  fat  dowry,  whom 
his  father  meant  him  to  marry.  But  things  turned 
up  which  were  neither  normal  nor  natural. 

On   the   other   hand,  a   very  handsome   young 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  175 

shepherd  from  the  hills  above  Maratea  was  in 
love  with  Cristina,  who  seems  to  have  been  quite 
indifferent  to  him.  Crist ina  had  no  regular  means 
of  subsistence,  but  she  was  a  good  girl  and  will 
ing  to  do  any  work  or  go  on  errands  to  any  dis 
tance  for  the  sake  of  a  loaf  of  bread  or  a  mess 
of  beans,  and  permission  to  sleep  under  cover. 
She  was  especially  glad  when  she  could  get  some 
thing  to  do  about  the  house  of  Angelo's  father. 
There  is  no  doctor  in  the  village,  and  when  the 
neighbours  saw  that  old  Alario  was  dying  they 
sent  Cristina  to  Scalea  to  fetch  one.  That  was 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  if  they  had  waited 
so  long,  it  was  because  the  dying  miser  refused 
to  allow  any  such  extravagance  while  he  was 
able  to  speak.  But  while  Cristiua  was  gone  mat 
ters  grew  rapidly  worse,  the  priest  was  brought 
to  the  bedside,  and  when  he  had  done  what  he 
could  he  gave  it  as  his  opinion  to  the  bystanders 
that  the  old  man  was  dead,  and  left  the  house. 

You  know  these  people.  They  have  a  physical 
horror  of  death.  Until  the  priest  spoke,  the  room 
had  been  full  of  people.  The  words  were  hardly 
out  of  his  mouth  before  it  was  empty.  It  was 
night  now.  They  hurried  down  the  dark  steps 
and  out  into  the  street. 

Angelo,  as  I  have  said,  was  away,  Cristina 
had  not  come  back  —  the  simple  woman-servant 


176  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

who  had  nursed  the  sick  man  fled  with  the  rest, 
and  the  body  was  left  alone  in  the  flickering  light 
of  the  earthen  oil  lamp. 

Five  minutes  later  two  men  looked  in  cau 
tiously  and  crept  forward  toward  the  bed.  They 
were  the  one-eyed  Neapolitan  mason  and  his  Si 
cilian  companion.  They  knew  what  they  wanted. 
In  a  moment  they  had  dragged  from  under  the 
bed  a  small  but  heavy  iron-bound  box,  and  long 
before  any  one  thought  of  coming  back  to  the 
dead  man  they  had  left  the  house  and  the  vil 
lage  under  cover  of  the  darkness.  It  was  easy 
enough,  for  Alario's  house  is  the  last  toward  the 
gorge  which  leads  down  here,  and  the  thieves 
merely  went  out  by  the  back  door,  got  over  the 
stone  wall,  and  had  nothing  to  risk  after  that 
except  the  possibility  of  meeting  some  belated 
countryman,  which  was  very  small  indeed,  since 
few  of  the  people  use  that  path.  They  had  a 
mattock  and  shovel,  and  they  made  their  way 
here  without  accident. 

I  am  telling  you  this  story  as  it  must  have  hap 
pened,  for,  of  course,  there  were  no  witnesses  to 
this  part  of  it.  The  men  brought  the  box  down 
by  the  gorge,  intending  to  bury  it  until  they  should 
be  able  to  come  back  and  take  it  away  in  a  boat. 
They  must  have  been  clever  enough  to  guess  that 
some  of  the  money  wrould  be  in  paper  notes,  for 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  177 

they  would  otherwise  have  buried  it  on  the  beach 
in  the  wet  sand,  where  it  would  have  been  much 
safer.  But  the  paper  would  have  rotted  if  they 
had  been  obliged  to  leave  it  there  long,  so  they  dug 
their  hole  down  there,  close  to  that  boulder.  Yes, 
just  where  the  mound  is  now. 

Cristina  did  not  find  the  doctor  in  Scalea,  for  he 
had  been  sent  for  from  a  place  up  the  valley,  half 
way  to  San  Domenico.  If  she  had  found  him,  he 
would  have  come  on  his  mule  by  the  upper  road, 
which  is  smoother  but  much  longer.  But  Cristina 
took  the  short  cut  by  the  rocks,  which  passes  about 
fifty  feet  above  the  mound,  and  goes  round  that 
corner.  The  men  were  digging  when  she  passed, 
and  she  heard  them  at  work.  It  would  not  have 
been  like  her  to  go  by  without  finding  out  what 
the  noise  was,  for  she  was  never  afraid  of  anything 
in  her  life,  and,  besides,  the  fishermen  sometimes 
come  ashore  here  at  night  to  get  a  stone  for  an 
anchor  or  to  gather  sticks  to  make  a  little  fire. 
The  night  was  dark,  and  Cristina  probably  came 
close  to  the  two  men  before  she  could  see  what 
they  were  doing.  She  knew  them,  of  course,  and 
they  knew  her,  and  understood  instantly  that  they 
were  in  her  power.  There  was  only  one  thing  to 
be  done  for  their  safety,  and  they  did  it.  They 
knocked  her  on  the  head,  they  dug  the  hole  deep, 
and  they  buried  her  quickly  with  the  iron-bound 


178  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

chest.  They  must  have  understood  that  their  only 
chance  of  escaping  suspicion  lay  in  getting  back  to 
the  village  before  their  absence  was  noticed,  for 
they  returned  immediately,  and  were  found  half  an 
hour  later  gossiping  quietly  with  the  man  who  was 
making  Alario's  coffin.  He  was  a  crony  of  theirs, 
and  had  been  working  at  the  repairs  in  the  old  man's 
house.  So  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  make  out, 
the  only  persons  who  were  supposed  to  know  where 
Alario  kept  his  treasure  were  Angelo  and  the  one 
woman-servant  I  have  mentioned.  Angelo  was 
away ;  it  was  the  woman  who  discovered  the  theft. 
It  is  easy  enough  to  understand  why  no  one  else 
knew  where  the  money  was.  The  old  man  kept 
his  door  locked  and  the  key  in  his  pocket  when  he 
was  out,  and  did  not  let  the  woman  enter  to  clean 
the  place  unless  he  was  there  himself.  The  whole 
village  knew  that  he  had  money  somewhere,  how 
ever,  and  the  masons  had  probably  discovered  the 
whereabouts  of  the  chest  by  climbing  in  at  the 
window  in  his  absence.  If  the  old  man  had  not 
been  delirious  until  he  lost  consciousness,  he  would 
have  been  in  frightful  agony  of  mind  for  his  riches. 
The  faithful  woman-servant  forgot  their  existence 
only  for  a  few  moments  when  she  fled  with  the 
rest,  overcome  by  the  horror  of  death.  Twenty 
minutes  had  not  passed  before  she  returned  with 
the  two  hideous  old  hags  who  are  always  called  in 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  179 

to  prepare  the  dead  for  burial.  Even  then  she 
had  not  at  first  the  courage  to  go  near  the  bed 
with  them,  but  she  made  a  pretence  of  dropping 
something,  went  down  on  her  knees  as  if  to  find  it, 
and  looked  under  the  bedstead.  The  walls  of  the 
room  were  newly  whitewashed  down  to  the  floor, 
and  she  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  chest  was  gone. 
It  had  been  there  in  the  afternoon,  it  had  therefore 
been  stolen  in  the  short  interval  since  she  had  left 
the  room. 

There  are  no  carabineers  stationed  in  the  village; 
there  is  not  so  much  as  a  municipal  watchman,  for 
there  is  no  municipality.  There  never  was  such  a 
place,  I  believe.  Scalea  is  supposed  to  look  after 
it  in  some  mysterious  way,  and  it  takes  a  couple  of 
hours  to  get  anybody  from  there.  As  the  old 
woman  had  lived  in  the  village  all  her  life,  it  did 
not  even  occur  to  her  to  apply  to  any  civil  authority 
for  help.  She  simply  set  up  a  howl  and  ran  through 
the  village  in  the  dark,  screaming  out  that  her 
dead  master's  house  had  been  robbed.  Many  of 
the  people  looked  out,  but  at  first  no  one  seemed 
inclined  to  help  her.  Most  of  them,  judging  her 
by  themselves,  whispered  to  each  other  that  she 
had  probably  stolen  the  money  herself.  The  first 
man  to  move  was  the  father  of  the  girl  whom 
Angelo  was  to  marry;  having  collected  his  house 
hold,  all  of  whom  felt  a  personal  interest  in  the 


180  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

wealth  which  was  to  have  come  into  the  family,  he 
declared  it  to  be  his  opinion  that  the  chest  had 
been  stolen  by  the  two  journeyman  masons  who 
lodged  in  the  house.  He  headed  a  search  for 
them,  which  naturally  began  in  Alario's  house  and 
ended  in  the  carpenter's  workshop,  where  the 
thieves  were  found  discussing  a  measure  of  wine 
with  the  carpenter  over  the  half-finished  coffin,  by 
the  light  of  one  earthen  lamp  filled  with  oil  and 
tallow.  The  search  party  at  once  accused  the  de 
linquents  of  the  crime,  and  threatened  to  lock 
them  up  in  the  cellar  till  the  carabineers  could  be 
fetched  from  Scalea.  The  two  men  looked  at  each 
other  for  one  moment,  and  then  without  the  slight 
est  hesitation  they  put  out  the  single  light,  seized 
the  unfinished  coffin  between  them,  and  using  it  as 
a  sort  of  battering  ram,  dashed  upon  their  assail 
ants  in  the  dark.  In  a  few  moments  they  were 
beyond  pursuit. 

That  is  the  end  of  the  first  part  of  the  story. 
The  treasure  had  disappeared,  and  as  no  trace  of 
it  could  be  found  the  people  naturally  supposed 
that  the  thieves  had  succeeded  in  carrying  it  off. 
The  old  man  was  buried,  and  when  Angelo  came 
back  at  last  he  had  to  borrow  money  to  pay  for 
the  miserable  funeral,  and  had  some  difficulty  in 
doing  so.  He  hardly  needed  to  be  told  that  in 
losing  his  inheritance  he  had  lost  his  bride.  In 


FOR  THE   BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  181 

this  part  of  the  world  marriages  are  made  on 
strictly  business  principles,  and  if  the  promised 
cash  is  not  forthcoming  on  the  appointed  day  the 
bride  or  the  bridegroom  whose  parents  have  failed 
to  produce  it  may  as  well  take  themselves  off,  for 
there  will  be  no  wedding.  Poor  Angelo  knew  that 
well  enough.  His  father  had  been  possessed  of 
hardly  any  lazid,  and  now  that  the  hard  cash 
which  he  had  brought  from  South  America  was 
gone,  there  was  nothing  left  but  debts  for  the 
building  materials  that  were  to  have  been  used  for 
enlarging  and  improving  the  old  house.  Angelo 
was  beggared,  and  the  nice  plump  little  creature 
wrho  was  to  have  been  his  turned  up  her  nose  at 
him  in  the  most  approved  fashion.  As  for  Cristina, 
it  was  several  days  before  she  was  missed,  for  no 
one  remembered  that  she  had  been  sent  to  Scalea 
for  the  doctor,  who  had  never  come.  She  often 
disappeared  in  the  same  way  for  days  together, 
wrhen  she  could  find  a  little  work  here  and  there  at 
the  distant  farms  among  the  hills.  But  when  she 
did  not  come  back  at  all,  people  began  to  wonder, 
and  at  last  made  up  their  minds  that  she  had  con 
nived  with  the  masons  and  had  escaped  with  them. 

I  paused  and  emptied  my  glass. 
"  That  sort  of  thing  could  not  liappen  anywhere 
else"  observed  Holger,  filling   his  everlasting  pipe 


182  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

again.  "  It  is  wonderful  what  a  natural  charm 
there  is  about  murder  and  sudden  death  in  a  roman 
tic  country  like  this.  Deeds  that  would  be  simply 
brutal  and  disgusting  anywhere  else  become  dramatic 
and  mysterious  because  this  is  Italy  and  we  are 
living  in  a  genuine  tower  of  Charles  V.  built  against 
genuine  Barbary pirates" 

"  There's  something  in  that"  I  admitted.  Ilolger 
is  the  most  romantic  man  in  the  world  inside  of 
himself,  but  Ice  always  thinks  it  necessary  to  explain 
why  he  feels  anything. 

"I  suppose  they  found  the  poor  girl's  body  with 
the  box,"  he  said  presently. 

"  As  it  seems  to  interest  you"  I  ansiuered,  "  Til 
tell  you  the  rest  of  the  story." 

The  moon  had  risen  high  by  this  time;  the  out 
line  of  the  Tiling  on  the  mound  was  clearer  to  our 
eyes  than  before. 

The  village  very  soon  settled  down  to  its  small, 
dull  life.  No  one  missed  old  Alario,  who  had  been 
away  so  much  on  his  voyages  to  South  America 
that  he  had  never  been  a  familiar  figure  in  his 
native  place.  Angelo  lived  in  the  half-finished 
house,  and  because  he  had  no  money  to  pay  the 
old  woman-servant  she  would  not  stay  with  him, 
but  once  in  a  long  time  she  would  come  and  wash 
a  shirt  for  him  for  old  acquaintance'  sake.  Be- 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  183 

sides  the  house,  he  had  inherited  a  small  patch  of 
ground  at  some  distance  from  the  village ;  he  tried 
to  cultivate  it,  but  he  had  no  heart  in  the  work, 
for  he  knew  he  could  never  pay  the  taxes  on  it 
and  on  the  house,  which  would  certainly  be  con 
fiscated  by  the  Government,  or  seized  for  the  debt 
of  the  building  material,  which  the  man  who  had 
supplied  it  refused  to  take  back. 

Angelo  was  very  unhappy.  So  long  as  his 
father  had  been  alive  and  rich,  every  girl  in  the 
village  had  been  in  love  with  him  ;  but  that  was 
all  changed  now.  It  had  been  pleasant  to  be  ad 
mired  and  courted,  and  invited  to  drink  wine  by 
fathers  who  had  girls  to  marry.  It  was  hard  to 
be  stared  at  coldly,  and  sometimes  laughed  at 
because  he  had  been  robbed  of  his  inheritance. 
He  cooked  his  miserable  meals  for  himself,  and 
from  being  sad  became  melancholy  and  morose. 

At  twilight,  when  the  day's  work  was  done, 
instead  of  hanging  about  in  the  open  space  before 
the  church  with  young  fellows  of  his  own  age,  he 
took  to  wandering  in  lonely  places  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  village  till  it  was  quite  dark.  Then  he 
slunk  home  and  went  to  bed  to  save  the  expense 
of  a  light.  But  iu  those  lonely  twilight  hours  he 
began  to  have  strange  waking  dreams.  He  was 
not  always  alone,  for  often  when  he  sat  on  the 
stump  of  a  tree,  where  the  narrow  path  turns 


184  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

down  the  gorge,  he  was  sure  that  a  woman  came 
up  noiselessly  over  the  rough  stones,  as  if  her  feet 
were  bare  ;  and  she  stood  under  a  clump  of  chestnut 
trees  only  half  a  dozen  yards  down  the  path,  and 
beckoned  to  him  without  speaking.  Though  she 
was  in  the  shadow  he  knew  that  her  lips  were  red, 
and  that  when  they  parted  a  little  and  smiled  at 
him  she  showed  two  small  sharp  teeth.  He  knew 
this  at  first  rather  than  saw  it,  and  he  knew  that 
it  was  Cristina,  and  that  she  was  dead.  Yet  he 
was  not  afraid ;  he  only  wondered  whether  it  was 
a  dream,  for  he  thought  that  if  he  had  been  awake 
he  should  have  been  frightened. 

Besides,  the  dead  woman  had  red  lips,  and  that 
could  only  happen  in  a  dream.  Whenever  he  went 
near  the  gorge  after  sunset  she  was  already  there 
waiting  for  him,  or  else  she  very  soon  appeared, 
and  he  began  to  be  sure  that  she  came  a  little 
nearer  to  him  every  day.  At  first  he  had  only 
been  sure  of  her  blood-red  mouth,  but  now  each 
feature  grew  distinct,  and  the  pale  face  looked  at 
him  with  deep  and  hungry  eyes. 

It  was  the  eyes  that  grew  dim.  Little  by  little 
he  came  to  know  that  some  day  the  dream  would 
not  end  when  he  turned  away  to  go  home,  but 
would  lead  him  down  the  gorge  out  of  which 
the  vision  rose.  She  was  nearer  now  when  she 
beckoned  to  him.  Her  cheeks  were  not  livid  like 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  185 

those  of  the  dead,  but  pale  with  starvation,  with 
the  furious  and  unappeased  physical  hunger  of  her 
eyes  that  devoured  him.  They  feasted  on  his  soul 
and  cast  a  spell  over  him,  and  at  last  they  were 
close  to  his  own  and  held  him.  He  could  not  tell 
whether  her  breath  was  as  hot  as  fire  or  as  cold 
as  ice ;  he  could  not  tell  whether  her  red  lips 
burned  his  or  froze  them,  or  whether  her  five 
fingers  on  his  wrists  seared  scorching  scars  or  bit 
his  flesh  like  frost ;  he  could  not  tell  whether  he 
was  awake  or  asleep,  whether  she  was  alive  or 
dead,  but  he  knew  that  she  loved  him,  she  alone 
of  all  creatures,  earthly  or  unearthly,  and  her  spell 
had  power  over  him. 

When  the  moon  rose  high  that  night  the  shadow 
of  that  Thing  was  not  alone  down  there  upon  the 
mound. 

Angolo  awoke  in  the  cool  dawn,  drenched  with 
dew  and  chilled  through  flesh,  and  blood,  and  bone. 
He  opened  his  eyes  to  the  faint  grey  light,  and 
saw  the  stars  still  shining  overhead.  He  was  very 
weak,  and  his  heart  was  beating  so  slowly  that 
he  was  almost  like  a  man  fainting.  Slowly  he 
turned  his  head  on  the  mound,  as  on  a  pillow,  but 
the  other  face  was  not  there.  Fear  seized  him 
suddenly,  a  fear  unspeakable  and  unknown ;  he 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  fled  up  the  gorge,  and  he 
never  looked  behind  him  until  he  reached  the 


186  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

door  of  the  house  on  the  outskirts  of  the  vil 
lage.  Drearily  he  went  to  his  work  that  day,  and 
wearily  the  hours  dragged  themselves  after  the 
sun,  till  at  last  he  touched  the  sea  and  sank,  and 
the  great  sharp  hills  above  Maratea  turned  purple 
against  the  dove-coloured  eastern  sky. 

Angelo  shouldered  his  heavy  hoe  and  left  the 
field.  He  felt  less  tired  now  than  in  the  morning 
when  he  had  begun  to  work,  but  he  promised 
himself  that  he  would  go  home  without  lingering 
by  the  gorge,  and  eat  the  best  supper  he  could 
get  himself,  and  sleep  all  night  in  his  bed  like  a 
Christian  man.  Not  again  would  he  be  tempted 
down  the  narrow  way  by  a  shadow  with  red  lips 
and  icy  breath ;  not  again  would  he  dream  that 
dream  of  terror  and  delight.  He  was  near  the 
village  now ;  it  was  half  an  hour  since  the  sun 
had  set,  and  the  cracked  church  bell  sent  little 
discordant  echoes  across  the  rocks  and  ravines  to 
tell  all  good  people  that  the  day  was  done.  An 
gelo  stood  still  a  moment  where  the  path  forked, 
where  it  led  toward  the  village  on  the  left,  and 
down  to  the  gorge  on  the  right,  where  a  clump 
of  chestnut  trees  overhung  the  narrow  way.  He 
stood  still  a  minute,  lifting  his  battered  hat  from 
his  head  and  gazing  at  the  fast-fading  sea  west 
ward,  and  his  lips  moved  as  he  silently  repeated 
the  familiar  evening  prayer.  His  lips  moved,  but 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  187 

the  words  that  followed  them  in  his  brain  lost 
their  meaning  and  turned  into  others,  and  ended 
in  a  name  that  he  spoke  aloud  —  Cristina  !  With 
the  name,  the  tension  of  his  will  relaxed  suddenly, 
reality  went  out  and  the  dream  took  him  again, 
and  bore  him  on  swiftly  and  surely  like  a  man 
walking  in  his  sleep,  down,  down,  by  the  steep 
path  in  the  gathering  darkness.  And  as  she 
glided  beside  him,  Cristina  whispered  strange, 
sweet  things  in  his  ear,  which  somehow,  if  he 
had  been  awake,  he  knew  that  he  could  not  quite 
have  understood ;  but  now  they  were  the  most 
wonderful  words  he  had  ever  heard  in  his  life. 
And  she  kissed  him  also,  but  not  upon  his  mouth. 
He  felt  her  sharp  kisses  upon  his  white  throat, 
and  he  knew  that  her  lips  were  red.  So  the  wild 
dream  sped  on  through  twilight  and  darkness  and 
moonrise,  and  all  the  glory  of  the  summer's  night. 
But  in  the  chilly  dawn  he  lay  as  one  half  dead 
upon  the  mound  down  there,  recalling  and  not 
recalling,  drained  of  his  blood,  yet  strangely  long 
ing  to  give  those  red  lips  more.  Then  came  the 
fear,  the  awful  nameless  panic,  the  mortal  horror 
that  guards  the  confines  of  the  world  we  see  not, 
neither  know  of  as  we  know  of  other  things,  but 
which  we  feel  when  its  icy  chill  freezes  our  bones 
and  stirs  our  hair  with  the  touch  of  a  ghostly 
hand.  Once  more  Angelo  sprang  from  the  mound 


188  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

and  fled  up  the  gorge  in  the  breaking  day,  but  his 
step  was  less  sure  this  time,  and  he  panted  for 
breath  as  he  ran ;  and  when  he  came  to  the  bright 
spring  of  water  that  rises  halfway  up  the  hill 
side,  he  dropped  upon  his  knees  and  hands  and 
plunged  his  whole  face  in  and  drank  as  he  had 
never  drunk  before  —  for  it  was  the  thirst  of  the 
wounded  man  who  has  lain  bleeding  all  night  long 
upon  the  battle-field. 

She  had  him  fast  now,  and  he  could  not  escape 
her,  but  would  come  to  her  every  evening  at  dusk 
until  she  had  drained  him  of  his  last  drop  of  blood. 
It  was  in  vain  that  when  the  day  was  done  he 
tried  to  take  another  turning  and  to  go  home  by 
a  path  that  did  not  lead  near  the  gorge.  It  was 
in  vain  that  he  made  promises  to  himself  each 
morning  at  dawn  when  he  climbed  the  lonely  way 
up  from  the  shore  to  the  village.  It  was  all  in 
vain,  for  when  the  sun  sank  burning  into  the  sea, 
and  the  coolness  of  the  evening  stole  out  as  from 
a  hiding-place  to  delight  the  weary  world,  his  feet 
turned  toward  the  old  way,  and  she  was  waiting 
for  him  in  the  shadow  under  the  chestnut  trees ; 
and  then  all  happened  as  before,  and  she  fell  to 
kissing  his  white  throat  even  as  she  flitted  lightly 
down  the  way,  winding  one  arm  about  him.  And 
as  his  blood  failed,  she  grew  more  hungry  and 
more  thirsty  every  day,  and  every  day  when  he 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  189 

awoke  in  the  early  dawn  it  was  harder  to  rouse 
himself  to  the  effort  of  climbing  the  steep  path  to 
the  village ;  and  when  he  went  to  his  work  his  feet 
dragged  painfully,  and  there  was  hardly  strength 
in  his  arms  to  wield  the  heavy  hoe.  He  scarcely 
spoke  to  any  one  now,  but  the  people  said  he  was 
"  consuming  himself "  for  love  of  the  girl  he  was 
to  have  married  when  he  lost  his  inheritance ;  and 
they  laughed  heartily  at  the  thought,  for  this  is 
not  a  very  romantic  country.  At  this  time,  An 
tonio,  the  man  who  stays  here  to  look  after  the 
tower,  returned  from  a  visit  to  hii  people,  who  live 
near  Salerno.  He  had  been  away  all  the  time 
since  before  Alario's  death  and  knew  nothing  of 
what  had  happened.  He  has  told  me  that  he 
came  back  late  in  the  afternoon  and  shut  him 
self  up  in  the  tower  to  eat  and  sleep,  for  he  was 
very  tired.  It  was  past  midnight  when  he  awoke, 
and  when  he  looked  out  the  waning  moon  was 
rising  over  the  shoulder  of  the  hill.  He  looked 
out  toward  the  mound,  and  he  saw  something,  and 
he  did  not  sleep  again  that  night.  When  he  went 
out  again  in  the  morning  it  was  broad  daylight, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  on  the  mound 
but  loose  stones  and  driven  sand.  Yet  he  did  not 
go  very  near  it ;  he  went  straight  up  the  path  to 
the  village  and  directly  to  the  house  of  the  old 
priest. 


190  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  I  have  seen  an  evil  thing  this  night,"  he  said ; 
"  I  have  seen  how  the  dead  drink  the  blood  of  the 
living.  And  the  blood  is  the  life." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  have  seen/'  said  the  priest 
in  reply. 

Antonio  told  him  everything  he  had  seen. 

"  You  must  bring  your  book  and  your  holy 
water  to-night,"  he  added.  "  I  will  be  here  before 
sunset  to  go  down  with  you,  and  if  it  pleases  your 
reverence  to  sup  with  me  while  we  wait,  I  will 
make  ready." 

"  I  will  come,"  the  priest  answered,  "  for  I  have 
read  in  old  books  of  these  strange  beings  which 
are  neither  quick  nor  dead,  and  which  lie  ever 
fresh  in  their  graves,  stealing  out  in  the  dusk  to 
taste  life  and  blood." 

Antonio  cannot  read,  but  he  was  glad  to  see 
that  the  priest  understood  the  business ;  for,  of 
course,  the  books  must  have  instructed  him  as  to 
the  best  means  of  quieting  the  half-living  Thing 
for  ever. 

So  Antonio  went  away  to  his  work,  which 
consists  largely  in  sitting  on  the  shady  side  of  the 
tower,  when  he  is  not  perched  upon  a  rock  with  a 
fishing-line  catching  nothing.  But  on  that  day  he 
went  twice  to  look  at  the  mound  in  the  bright 
sunlight,  and  he  searched  round  and  round  it  for 
some  hole  through  which  the  being  might  get  in 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  191 

and  out;  but  he  found  none.  When  the  sun 
began  to  sink  and  the  air  was  cooler  in  the 
shadows,  he  went  up  to  fetch  the  old  priest, 
carrying  a  little  wicker  basket  with  him ;  and  in 
this  they  placed  a  bottle  of  holy  water,  and  the 
basin,  and  sprinkler,  and  the  stole  which  the 
priest  would  need ;  and  they  came  down  and 
waited  in  the  door  of  the  tower  till  it  should  be 
dark.  But  while  the  light  still  lingered  very  grey 
and  faint,  they  saw  something  moving,  just  there, 
two  figures,  a  man's  that  walked,  and  a  woman's 
that  flitted  beside  him,  and  while  her  head  lay  on 
his  shoulder  she  kissed  his  throat.  The  priest  has 
told  me  that,  too,  and  that  his  teeth  chattered  and 
he  grasped  Antonio's  arm.  The  vision  passed  and 
disappeared  into  the  shadow.  Then  Antonio  got 
the  leathern  flask  of  strong  liquor,  which  he  kept 
for  great  occasions,  and  poured  such  a  draught  as 
made  the  old  man  feel  almost  young  again  ;  and 
he  got  the  lantern,  and  his  pick  and  shovel, 
and  gave  the  priest  his  stole  to  put  on  and  the 
holy  water  to  carry,  and  they  went  out  together 
toward  the  spot  where  the  work  was  to  be  done. 
Antonio  says  that  in  spite  of  the  rum  his  own 
knees  shook  together,  and  the  priest  stumbled  over 
his  Latin.  For  when  they  were  yet  a  few  yards 
from  the  mound  the  flickering  light  of  the  lantern 
fell  upon  Angelo's  white  face,  unconscious  as  if  in 


192  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

sleep,  and  on  his  upturned  throat,  over  which  a 
very  thin  red  line  of  blood  trickled  down  into 
his  collar ;  and  the  flickering  light  of  the  lantern 
played  upon  another  face  that  looked  up  from  the 
feast  —  upon  two  deep,  dead  eyes  that  saw  in  spite 
of  death  —  upon  parted  lips  redder  than  life  itself  - 
upon  two  gleaming  teeth  on  which  glistened  a  rosy 
drop.  Then  the  priest,  good  old  man,  shut  his 
eyes  tight  and  showered  holy  water  before  him,  and 
his  cracked  voice  rose  almost  to  a  scream ;  and 
then  Antonio,  who  is  no  coward  after  all,  raised 
his  pick  in  one  hand  and  the  lantern  in  the  other, 
as  he  sprang  forward,  not  knowing  what  the  end 
should  be ;  and  then  he  swears  that  he  heard  a 
woman's  cry,  and  the  Thing  was  gone,  and  Angelo 
lay  alone  on  the  mound  unconscious,  with  the  red 
line  on  his  throat  and  the  beads  of  deathly  sweat 
on  his  cold  forehead.  They  lifted  him,  half-dead 
as  he  was,  and  laid  him  on  the  ground  close  by ; 
then  Antonio  went  to  work,  and  the  priest  helped 
him,  though  he  was  old  and  could  not  do  much ; 
and  they  dug  deep,  and  at  last  Antonio,  standing 
in  the  grave,  stooped  down  with  his  lantern  to  see 
what  he  might  see. 

His  hair  used  to  be  dark  brown,  with  grizzled 
streaks  about  the  temples ;  in  less  than  a  month 
from  that  day  he  was  as  grey  as  a  badger.  He 
was  a  miner  when  he  was  young,  and  most  of  these 


FOR  THE  BLOOD  IS  THE  LIFE  193 

fellows  have  seen  ugly  sights  now  and  then,  when 
accidents  have  happened,  but  he  had  never  seen 
what  he  saw  that  night  —  that  Thing  which  is 
neither  alive  nor  dead,  that  Thing  that  will  abide 
neither  above  ground  nor  in  the  grave.  Antonio 
had  brought  something  with  him  which  the  priest 
had  not  noticed.  He  had  made  it  that  afternoon 
—  a  sharp  stake  shaped  from  a  piece  of  tough  old 
driftwood.  He  had  it  with  him  now,  and  he  had 
his  heavy  pick,  and  he  had  taken  the  lantern  down 
into  the  grave.  I  don't  think  any  power  on  earth 
could  make  him  speak  of  what  happened  then,  and 
the  old  priest  was  too  frightened  to  look  in.  He 
says  he  heard  Antonio  breathing  like  a  wild  beast, 
and  moving  as  if  he  were  fighting  with  something 
almost  as  strong  as  himself ;  and  he  heard  an  evil 
sound  also,  with  blows,  as  of  something  violently 
driven  through  flesh  and  bone ;  and  then  the  most 
awful  sound  of  all  —  a  woman's  shriek,  the  un 
earthly  scream  of  a  woman  neither  dead  nor  alive, 
but  buried  deep  for  many  days.  And  he,  the  poor 
old  priest,  could  only  rock  himself  as  he  knelt  there 
in  the  sand,  crying  aloud  his  prayers  and  exorcisms 
to  drown  these  dreadful  sounds.  Then  suddenly  a 
small  iron-bound  chest  was  thrown  up  and  rolled 
over  against  the  old  man's  knee,  and  in  a  moment 
more  Antonio  was  beside  him,  his  face  as  white  as 
tallow  in  the  flickering  light  of  the  lantern,  shovel- 


194  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

ling  the  sand  and  pebbles  into  the  grave  with  furious 
haste,  and  looking  over  the  edge  till  the  pit  was 
half  full ;  and  the  priest  said  that  there  was  much 
fresh  blood  on  Antonio's  hands  and  on  his  clothes. 

/  had  come  to  the  end  of  my  story.  Holger  fin 
ished  his  wine  and  leaned  Lack  in  his  chair. 

"  So  Angelo  got  his  own  again"  he  said.  " Did 
he  marry  the  prim  and  plump  young  person  to  whom 
he  had  been  betrothed?  " 

"  No  ;  lie  had  been  badly  frightened.  He  went  to 
South  America,  and  has  not  been  heard  of  since." 

"  And  that  poor  thing 's  body  is  there  still,  I 
suppose"  said  Holger.  "Is  it  quite  dead  yet, 
I  wonder  ?  " 

/  wonder,  too.  But  ivhether  it  be  dead  or  alive,  I 
should  hardly  care  to  see  it,  even  in  broad  daylight. 
Antonio  is  as  grey  as  a  badger,  and  he  has  never 
been  quite  the  same  man  since  that  night. 


THE   UPPER  BERTH 


THE  UPPER  BERTH 

CHAPTER  I 

SOMEBODY  asked  for  the  cigars.  We  had  talked 
long,  and  the  conversation  was  beginning  to  lan 
guish  ;  the  tobacco  smoke  had  got  into  the  heavy 
curtains,  the  wine  had  got  into  those  brains  which 
were  liable  to  become  heavy,  and  it  was  already 
perfectly  evident  that,  unless  somebody  did  some 
thing  to  rouse  our  oppressed  spirits,  the  meeting 
would  soon  come  to  its  natural  conclusion,  and  we, 
the  guests,  would  speedily  go  home  to  bed,  and 
most  certainly  to  sleep.  No  one  had  said  anything 
very  remarkable ;  it  may  be  that  no  one  had  any 
thing  very  remarkable  to  say.  Jones  had  given  us 
every  particular  of  his  last  hunting  adventure  in 
Yorkshire.  Mr.  Tompkins,  of  Boston,  had  explained 
at  elaborate  length  those  working  principles,  by 
the  due  and  careful  maintenance  of  which  the 
Atchison,  Topeka,  and  Santa  Fe  Railroad  not  only 
extended  its  territory,  increased  its  departmental 
influence,  and  transported  live  stock  without 
starving  them  to  death  before  the  day  of  actual 
delivery,  but,  also,  had  for  years  succeeded  in 

197 


198  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

deceiving  those  passengers  who  bought  its  tickets 
into  the  fallacious  belief  that  the  corporation  afore 
said  was  really  able  to  transport  human  life  with 
out  destroying  it.  Signor  Tombola  had  endeavoured 
to  persuade  us,  by  arguments  which  we  took  no 
trouble  to  oppose,  that  the  unity  of  his  country  in 
no  way  resembled  the  average  modern  torpedo, 
carefully  planned,  constructed  with  all  the  skill  of 
the  greatest  European  arsenals,  but,  when  con 
structed,  destined  to  be  directed  by  feeble  hands 
into  a  region  where  it  must  undoubtedly  explode, 
unseen,  unfeared,  and  unheard,  into  the  illimitable 
wastes  of  political  chaos. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  go  into  further  details.  The 
conversation  had  assumed  proportions  which  would 
have  bored  Prometheus  on  his  rock,  which  would 
have  driven  Tantalus  to  distraction,  and  which 
would  have  impelled  Ixion  to  seek  relaxation  in 
the  simple  but  instructive  dialogues  of  Herr  Ollen- 
dorff,  rather  than  submit  to  the  greater  evil  of 
listening  to  our  talk.  We  had  sat  at  table  for 
hours ;  we  were  bored,  we  were  tired,  and  nobody 
showed  signs  of  moving. 

Somebody  called  for  cigars.  We  all  instinctively 
looked  towards  the  speaker.  Brisbane  was  a  man 
of  five-and-thirty  years  of  age,  and  remarkable  for 
those  gifts  which  chiefly  attract  the  attention  of 
men.  He  was  a  strong  man.  The  external  pro- 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  199 

portions  of  his  figure  presented  nothing  extraordi 
nary  to  the  common  eye,  though  his  size  was  about 
the  average.  He  was  a  little  over  six  feet  in 
height,  and  moderately  broad  in  the  shoulder ;  he 
did  not  appear  to  be  stout,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  was  certainly  not  thin ;  his  small  head,  was 
supported  by  a  strong  and  sinewy  neck  ;  his  broad, 
muscular  hands  appeared  to  possess  a  peculiar  skill 
in  breaking  walnuts  without  the  assistance  of  the 
ordinary  cracker,  and  seeing  him  in  profile,  one 
could  not  help  remarking  the  extraordinary  breadth 
of  his  sleeves,  and  the  unusual  thickness  of  his 
chest.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  commonly 
spoken  of  among  men  as  deceptive ;  that  is  to  say, 
that  though  he  looked  exceedingly  strong  he  was 
in  reality  very  much  stronger  than  he  looked.  Of 
his  features  I  need  say  little.  His  head  is  small, 
his  hair  is  thin,  his  eyes  are  blue,  his  nose  is  large, 
he  has  a  small  moustache  and  a  square  jaw. 
Everybody  knows  Brisbane,  and  when  he  asked  for 
a  cigar  everybody  looked  at  him. 

"  It  is  a  very  singular  thing,"  said  Brisbane. 

Everybody  stopped  talking.  Brisbane's  voice 
was  not  loud,  but  possessed  a  peculiar  quality  of 
penetrating  general  conversation,  and  cutting  it 
like  a  knife.  Everybody  listened.  Brisbane, 
perceiving  that  he  had  attracted  their  general 
attention,  lit  his  cigar  with  great  equanimity. 


200  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"It is  very  singular,"  he  continued,  "that  thing 
about  ghosts.  People  are  always  asking  whether 
anybody  has  seen  a  ghost.  I  have." 

"'Bosh  !  What,  you  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  so, 
Brisbane  ?  Well,  for  a  man  of  his  intelligence !  " 

A  chorus  of  exclamations  greeted  Brisbane's 
remarkable  statement.  Everybody  called  for 
cigarsj  and  Stubbs,  the  butler,  suddenly  appeared 
from  the  depths  of  nowhere  with  a  fresh  bottle  of 
dry  champagne.  The  situation  was  saved;  Bris 
bane  was  going  to  tell  a  story. 

I  am  an  old  sailor,  said  Brisbane,  and  as  I  have 
to  cross  the  Atlantic  pretty  often,  I  have  my  fa 
vourites.  Most  men  have  their  favourites.  I  have 
seen  a  man  wait  in  a  Broadway  bar  for  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  for  a  particular  car  which  he 
liked.  I  believe  the  bar-keeper  made  at  least  one- 
third  of  his  living  by  that  man's  preference.  I 
have  a  habit  of  waiting  for  certain  ships  when  I  am 
obliged  to  cross  that  duck-pond.  It  may  be  a 
prejudice,  but  I  was  never  cheated  out  of  a  good 
passage  but  once  in  my  life.  I  remember  it  very 
well;  it  was  a  warm  morning  in  June,  and  the 
Custom  House  officials,  who  were  hanging  about 
waiting  for  a  steamer  already  on  her  way  up  from 
the  Quarantine,  presented  a  peculiarly  hazy  and 
thoughtful  appearance.  I  had  not  much  luggage 
—  I  never  have.  I  mingled  with  a  crowd  of 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  201 

passengers,  porters,  and  officious  individuals  in  blue 
coats  and  brass  buttons,  who  seemed  to  spring  up 
like  mushrooms  from  the  deck  of  a  moored  steamer 
to  obtrude  their  unnecessary  services  upon  the  in 
dependent  passenger.  I  have  often  noticed  with  a 
certain  interest  the  spontaneous  evolution  of  these 
fellows.  They  are  not  there  when  you  arrive ; 
five  minutes  after  the  pilot  has  called  "Go  ahead!" 
they,  or  at  least  their  blue  coats  and  brass  buttons, 
have  disappeared  from  deck  and  gangway  as  com 
pletely  as  though  they  had  been  consigned  to  that 
locker  which  tradition  unanimously  ascribes  to  Davy 
Jones.  But,  at  the  moment  of  starting,  they  are 
there,  clean  shaved,  blue  coated,  and  ravenous  for 
fees.  I  hastened  on  board.  The  Kamtschatka  was 
one  of  my  favourite  ships.  I  say  was,  because  she 
emphatically  no  longer  is.  I  cannot  conceive  of 
any  inducement  which  could  entice  me  to  make 
another  voyage  in  her.  Yes,  I  know  what  you  are 
going  to  say.  She  is  uncommonly  clean  in  the  run 
aft,  she  has  enough  bluffing  off  in  the  bows  to  keep 
her  dry,  and  the  lower  berths  are  most  of  them 
double.  She  has  a  lot  of  advantages,  but  I  won't 
cross  in  her  again.  Excuse  the  digression.  I  got 
on  board.  I  hailed  a  steward,  whose  red  nose  and 
redder  whiskers  were  equally  familiar  to  me. 

"  One  hundred  and  five,  lower  berth,"  said  I,  in 
the  businesslike  tone  peculiar  to  men  who  think 


202  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

no  more  of  crossing  the  Atlantic  than  taking  a 
whiskey  cocktail  at  down-town  Delmonico's. 

The  steward  took  my  portmanteau,  greatcoat, 
and  rug.  I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  of 
his  face.  Not  that  he  turned  pale.  It  is  main 
tained  by  the  most  eminent  divines  that  even 
miracles  cannot  change  the  course  of  nature.  I 
have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  he  did  not  turn 
pale;  but,  from  his  expression,  I  judged  that  he 
was  either  about  to  shed  tears,  to  sneeze,  or  to 
drop  my  portmanteau.  As  the  latter  contained 
two  bottles  of  particularly  fine  old  sherry  pre 
sented  to  me  for  my  voyage  by  my  old  friend 
Snigginson  van  Pickyns,  I  felt  extremely  nervous. 
But  the  steward  did  none  of  these  things. 

"  Well,  I'm  d d  ! "  said  he  in  a  low  voice, 

and  led  the  way. 

I  supposed  my  Hermes,  as  he  led  me  to  the 
lower  regions,  had  had  a  little  grog,  but  I  said 
nothing  and  followed  him.  105  was  on  the  port 
side,  well  aft.  There  was  nothing  remarkable 
about  the  state-room.  The  lower  berth,  like  most 
of  those  upon  the  Kamtscliatka,  was  double. 
There  was  plenty  of  room;  there  was  the  usual 
washing  apparatus,  calculated  to  convey  an  idea  of 
luxury  to  the  mind  of  a  North  American  Indian ; 
there  were  the  usual  inefficient  racks  of  brown 
wood,  in  which  it  is  more  easy  to  hang  a  large- 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  203 

sized  umbrella  than  the  common  tooth-brush  of  com 
merce.  Upon  the  uninviting  mattresses  were  care 
fully  folded  together  those  blankets  which  a  great 
modern  humourist  has  aptly  compared  to  cold  buck 
wheat  cakes.  The  question  of  towels  was  left  entirely 
to  the  imagination.  The  glass  decanters  were  filled 
with  a  transparent  liquid  faintly  tinged  with  brown, 
but  from  which  an  odour  less  faint,  but  net  more 
pleasing,  ascended  to  the  nostrils,  like  a  far-off  sea 
sick  reminiscence  of  oily  machinery.  Sad-coloured 
curtains  half  closed  the  upper  berth.  The  hazy  June 
daylight  shed  a  faint  illumination  upon  the  deso 
late  little  scene.  Ugh  !  how  I  hate  that  state-room ! 

The  steward  deposited  my  traps  and  looked  at 
me  as  though  he  wanted  to  get  away  —  probably 
in  search  of  more  passengers  and  more  fees.  It  is 
always  a  good  plan  to  start  in  favour  with  those 
functionaries,  and  I  accordingly  gave  him  certain 
coins  there  and  then. 

"  I'll  try  and  make  yer  comfortable  all  I  can," 
he  remarked,  as  he  put  the  coins  in  his  pocket. 
Nevertheless,  there  was  a  doubtful  intonation  in 
his  voice  which  surprised  me.  Possibly  his  scale 
of  fees  had  gone  up,  and  he  was  not  satisfied ;  but 
on  the  whole  I  was  inclined  to  think  that,  as  he 
himself  would  have  expressed  it,  he  was  "  the 
better  for  a  glass."  I  was  wrong,  however,  and 
did  the  man  injustice. 


204  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

CHAPTER  II 

NOTHING  especially  worthy  of  mention  occurred 
during  that  day.  We  left  the  pier  punctually, 
and  it  was  very  pleasant  to  be  fairly  under  way,  for 
the  weather  was  warm  and  sultry,  and  the  motion 
of  the  steamer  produced  a  refreshing  breeze. 
Everybody  knows  what  the  first  day  at  sea  is  like. 
People  pace  the  decks  and  stare  at  each  other,  and 
occasionally  meet  acquaintances  whom  they  did 
not  know  to  be  on  board.  There  is  the  usual  un 
certainty  as  to  whether  the  food  will  be  good,  bad, 
or  indifferent,  until  the  first  two  meals  have  put 
the  matter  beyond  a  doubt ;  there  is  the  usual  un 
certainty  about  the  weather,  until  the  ship  is  fairly 
off  Fire  Island.  The  tables  are  crowded  at  first, 
and  then  suddenly  thinned.  Pale-faced  people 
spring  from  their  seats  and  precipitate  themselves 
towards  the  door,  and  each  old  sailor  breathes 
more  freely  as  his  seasick  neighbour  rushes  from 
his  side,  leaving  him  plenty  of  elbow-room  and  an 
unlimited  command  over  the  mustard. 

One  passage  across  the  Atlantic  is  very  much 
like  another,  and  we  who  cross  very  often  do  not 
make  the  voyage  for  the  sake  of  novelty.  Whales 
and  icebergs  are  indeed  always  objects  of  interest, 
but,  after  all,  one  whale  is  very  much  like  another 
whale,  and  one  rarely  sees  an  iceberg  at  close 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  205 

quarters.  To  the  majority  of  us  the  most  delight 
ful  moment  of  the  day  on  board  an  ocean  steamer 
is  when  we  have  taken  our  last  turn  on  deck,  have 
smoked  our  last  cigar,  and  having  succeeded  in  tir 
ing  ourselves,  feel  at  liberty  to  turn  in  with  a  clear 
conscience.  On  that  first  night  of  the  voyage  I  felt 
particularly  lazy,  and  went  to  bed  in  105  rather 
earlier  than  I  usually  do.  As  I  turned  in,  I  was 
amazed  to  see  that  I  was  to  have  a  companion.  A 
portmanteau,  very  like  my  own,  lay  in  the  opposite 
corner,  and  in  the  upper  berth  had  been  deposited 
a  neatly  folded  rug,  with  a  stick  and  umbrella.  I 
had  hoped  to  be  alone,  and  I  was  disappointed ; 
but  I  wondered  who  rny  room-mate  was  to  be,  and 
I  determined  to  have  a  look  at  him. 

Before  I  had  been  long  in  bed  he  entered.  He 
was,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  a  very  tall  man,  very 
thin,  very  pale,  with  sandy  hair  and  whiskers  and 
colourless  grey  eyes.  He  had  about  him,  I  thought, 
an  air  of  rather  dubious  fashion ;  the  sort  of  man 
you  might  see  in  Wall  Street,  without  being  able 
precisely  to  say  what  he  was  doing  there — the  sort 
of  man  who  frequents  the  Cafe  Anglais,  who  always 
seems  to  be  alone  and  who  drinks  champagne  ;  you 
might  meet  him  on  a  racecourse,  but  he  would 
never  appear  to  be  doing  anything  there  either. 
A  little  over-dressed  —  a  little  odd.  There  are 
three  or  four  of  his  kind  on  every  ocean  steamer. 


206  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  did  not  care  to  make 
his  acquaintance,  and  I  went  to  sleep  saying  to  my 
self  that  I  would  study  his  habits  in  order  to  avoid 
him.  If  he  rose  early,  I  would  rise  late ;  if  he 
went  to  bed  late  I  would  go  to  bed  early.  I  did 
not  care  to  know  him.  If  you  once  know  people 
of  that  kind,  they  are  always  turning  up.  Poor 
fellow !  I  need  not  have  taken  the  trouble  to  come 
to  so  many  decisions  about  him,  for  I  never  saw 
him  again  after  that  first  night  in  105. 

I  was  sleeping  soundly  when  I  wras  suddenly 
waked  by  a  loud  noise.  To  judge  from  the  sound, 
my  room-mate  must  have  sprung  with  a  single  leap 
from  the  upper  berth  to  the  floor.  I  heard  him 
fumbling  with  the  latch  and  bolt  of  the  door,  which 
opened  almost  immediately,  and  then  I  heard  his 
footsteps  as  he  ran  at  full  speed  down  the  passage, 
leaving  the  door  open  behind  him.  The  ship  was 
rolling  a  little,  and  I  expected  to  hear  him  stumble 
or  fall,  but  he  ran  as  though  he  were  running  for 
his  life.  The  door  swung  on  its  hinges  with  the 
motion  of  the  vessel,  and  the  sound  annoyed  me. 
I  got  up  and  shut  it,  and  groped  my  way  back  to 
my  berth  in  the  darkness.  I  went  to  sleep  again ; 
but  I  have  no  idea  how  long  I  slept. 

When  I  awoke  it  was  still  quite  dark,  but  I 
felt  a  disagreeable  sensation  of  cold,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  air  was  damp.  You  know  the 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  207 

peculiar  smell  of  a  cabin  which  has  been  wet 
with  sea-water.  I  covered  myself  up  as  well  as 
I  could  and  dozed  off  again,  framing  complaints 
to  be  made  the  next  day,  and  selecting  the  most 
powerful  epithets  in  the  language.  I  could  hear 
my  room-mate  turn  over  in  the  upper  berth. 
He  had  probably  returned  while  I  was  asleep. 
Once  I  thought  I  heard  him  groan,  and  I  argued 
that  he  was  sea-sick.  That  is  particularly  unpleas 
ant  when  one  is  below.  Nevertheless  I  dozed 
off  and  slept  till  early  daylight, 

The  ship  was  rolling  heavily,  much  more  than 
on  the  previous  evening,  and  the  grey  light  which 
came  in  through  the  porthole  changed  in  tint  with 
every  movement  according  as  the  angle  of  the 
vessel's  side  turned  the  glass  seawards  or  sky 
wards.  It  was  very  cold  —  unaccountably  so  for 
the  month  of  June.  I  turned  my  head  and 
looked  at  the  porthole,  and  saw  to  my  surprise 
that  it  was  wide  open  and  hooked  back.  I  believe 
I  swore  audibly.  Then  I  got  up  and  shut  it. 
As  I  turned  back  I  glanced  at  the  upper  berth. 
The  curtains  were  drawn  close  together;  my 
companion  had  probably  felt  cold  as  well  as  I. 
It  struck  me  that  I  had  slept  enough.  The  state 
room  was  uncomfortable,  though,  strange  to  say, 
I  could  not  smell  the  dampness  which  had  annoyed 
me  in  the  night.  My  room-mate  was  still  asleep 


208  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

—  excellent   opportunity   for   avoiding   him,  so  I 
dressed   at   once   and   went   on   deck.      The   day 
was   warm   and   cloudy,   with   an   oily   smell   on 
the  water.     It  was   seven  o'clock  as  I  came  out 

—  much    later    than    I    had    imagined.     I    came 
across  the  doctor,  who   was  taking  his  first  sniff 
of  the  morning  air.     He  was  a  young  man  from 
the  West  of  Ireland  —  a  tremendous  fellow,  with 
black   hair    and    blue    eyes,    already   inclined    to 
be  stout ;    he  had  a  happy-go-lucky,  healthy  look 
about  him  which  was  rather  attractive. 

"Fine  morning,"  I  remarked,  by  way  of  intro 
duction. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  eyeing  me  with  an  air  of  ready 
interest,  "  it's  a  fine  morning  and  it's  not  a  fine 
morning.  I  don't  think  it's  much  of  a  morning." 

"  Well,  no  —  it  is  not  so  very  fine,"  said  I. 

"  It's  just  what  I  call  fuggly  weather,"  replied 
the  doctor. 

"  It  was  very  cold  last  night,  I  thought,"  I 
remarked.  "  However,  when  I  looked  about,  I 
found  that  the  porthole  was  wide  open.  I  had 
not  noticed  it  when  I  went  to  bed.  And  the 
state-room  was  damp,  too." 

"  Damp  !  "  said  he.     "  Whereabouts  are  you  ?  " 

"  One  hundred  and  five  - 

To  my  surprise  the  doctor  started  visibly,  and 
stared  at  ine. 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  209 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh  —  nothing,"  he  answered;  "only  every 
body  has  complained  of  that  state-room  for  the 
last  three  trips." 

"  I  shall  complain,  too,"  I  said.  "  It  has  cer 
tainly  not  been  properly  aired.  It  is  a  shame  !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it  can  be  helped,"  answered 
the  doctor.  "I  believe  there  is  something  — 
well,  it  is  not  my  business  to  frighten  passengers." 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  frightening  me," 
I  replied.  "  I  can  stand  any  amount  of  damp. 
If  I  should  get  a  bad  cold,  I  will  come  to  you." 

I  offered  the  doctor  a  cigar,  which  he  took 
and  examined  very  critically. 

u  It  is  not  so  much  the  damp,"  he  remarked. 
"  However,  I  dare  say  you  will  get  on  very  well. 
Have  you  a  room-mate  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  a  deuce  of  a  fellow,  who  bolts  out  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  and  leaves  the  door 
open." 

Again  the  doctor  glanced  curiously  at  me. 
Then  he  lit  the  cigar  and  looked  grave. 

"  Did  he  come  back  ?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"Yes.  I  was  asleep,  but  I  waked  up,  and 
heard  him  moving.  Then  I  felt  cold  and  went 
to  sleep  again.  This  morning  I  found  the  portr 
hole  open." 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  doctor  quietly,  "  I  don't 


210  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

care  much  for  this  ship.  I  don't  care  a  rap  for 
her  reputation.  I  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  I 
have  a  good-sized  place  up  here.  I  wrill  share 
it  with  you,  though  I  don't  know  you  from 
Adam." 

I  was  very  much  surprised  at  the  proposition. 
I  could  not  imagine  why  he  should  take  such  a 
sudden  interest  in  my  welfare.  However,  his 
manner,  as  he  spoke  of  the  ship,  wras  peculiar. 

"  You  are  very  good,  doctor,"  I  said.  "  But, 
really,  I  believe  even  now  the  cabin  could  be 
aired,  or  cleaned  out,  or  something.  Why  do  you 
not  care  for  the  ship  ?  " 

"  We  are  not  superstitious  in  our  profession,  sir," 
replied  the  doctor,  "  but  the  sea  makes  people  so. 
I  don't  want  to  prejudice  you,  and  I  don't  want  to 
frighten  you,  but  if  you  will  take  my  advice  you 
will  move  in  here.  I  would  as  soon  see  you  over 
board,"  he  added  earnestly,  "  as  know  that  you  or 
any  other  man  was  to  sleep  in  105." 

"  Good  gracious  !     Why  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Just  because  on  the  three  last  trips  the  people 
who  have  slept  there  actually  have  gone  over 
board,"  he  answered  gravely. 

The  intelligence  was  startling  and  exceedingly 
unpleasant,  I  confess.  I  looked  hard  at  the  doctor 
to  see  whether  he  was  making  game  of  me,  but  he 
looked  perfectly  serious.  I  thanked  him  warmly 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  211 

for  his  offer,  but  told  him  I  intended  to  be  the  ex 
ception  to  the  rule  by  which  every  one  who  slept 
in  that  particular  state-room  went  overboard.  He 
did  not  say  much,  but  looked  as  grave  as  ever,  and 
hinted  that,  before  we  got  across,  I  should  probably 
reconsider  his  proposal.  In  the  course  of  time  we 
went  to  breakfast,  at  which  only  an  inconsiderable 
number  of  passengers  assembled.  I  noticed  that 
one  or  two  of  the  officers  who  breakfasted  with  us 
looked  grave.  After  breakfast  I  went  into  my 
state-room  in  order  to  get  a  book.  The  curtains  of 
the  upper  berth  were  still  closely  drawn.  Not  a 
sound  was  to  be  heard.  My  room-mate  was  prob 
ably  still  asleep. 

As  I  came  out  I  met  the  steward  whose  business 
it  was  to  look  after  me.  He  whispered  that  the 
captain  wanted  to  see  me,  and  then  scuttled  away 
down  the  passage  as  if  very  anxious  to  avoid  any 
questions.  I  went  toward  the  captain's  cabin,  and 
found  him  waiting  for  me. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "I  want  to  ask  a  favour  of 
you." 

I  answered  that  I  would  do  anything  to  oblige 
him. 

"Your  room-mate  has  disappeared,"  he  said. 
"  He  is  known  to  have  turned  in  early  last  night. 
Did  you  notice  anything  extraordinary  in  his 
manner  ?  " 


212  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

The  question,  coming  as  it  did  in  exact  confirma 
tion  of  the  fears  the  doctor  had  expressed  half  an 
hour  earlier,  staggered  me. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  he  has  gone  over 
board  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  fear  he  has,"  answered  the  captain. 

"  This  is  the  most  extraordinary  thing  -  "  I 
began. 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"  He  is  the  fourth,  then  ?  "  I  explained.  In  an 
swer  to  another  question  from  the  captain,  I  ex 
plained,  without  mentioning  the  doctor,  that  I  had 
heard  the  story  concerning  105.  He  seemed  very 
much  annoyed  at  hearing  that  I  knew  of  it.  I  told 
him  what  had  occurred  in  the  night. 

"  What  you  say,"  he  replied,  "  coincides  almost 
exactly  with  what  was  told  me  by  the  room-mates 
of  two  of  the  other  three.  They  bolt  out  of  bed 
and  run  down  the  passage.  Two  of  them  were 
seen  to  go  overboard  by  the  watch;  we  stopped 
and  lowered  boats,  but  they  were  not  found. 
Nobod}^  however,  saw  or  heard  the  man  who 
was  lost  last  night  —  if  he  is  really  lost.  The 
steward,  who  is  a  superstitious  fellow,  perhaps, 
and  expected  something  to  go  wrong,  went  to 
look  for  Mm  this  morning,  and  found  his  berth 
empty,  but  his  clothes  lying  about,  just  as  he 
had  left  them.  The  steward  was  the  only  man 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  213 

on  board  who  knew  him  by  sight,  and  he  has 
been  searching  everywhere  for  him.  He  has 
disappeared!  Now,  sir,  I  want  to  beg  you  not 
to  mention  the  circumstance  to  any  of  the  pas 
sengers;  I  don't  want  the  ship  to  get  a  bad 
name,  and  nothing  hangs  about  an  ocean-goer 
like  stories  of  suicides.  You  shall  have  your 
choice  of  any  one  of  the  officers'  cabins  you 
like,  including  my  own,  for  the  rest  of  the 
passage.  Is  that  a  fair  bargain  ?  " 

"Very,"  said  I;  "and  I  am  much  obliged  to 
you.  But  since  I  am  alone,  and  have  the  state 
room  to  myself,  I  would  rather  not  move.  If 
the  steward  will  take  out  that  unfortunate  man's 
things,  I  would  as  lief  stay  where  I  am.  I  will 
not  say  anything  about  the  matter,  and  I  think 
I  can  promise  you  that  I  will  not  follow  my 
room-mate." 

The  captain  tried  to  dissuade  me  from  my 
intention,  but  I  preferred  having  a  state-room 
alone  to  being  the  chum  of  any  officer  on  board. 
I  do  not  know  whether  I  acted  foolishly,  but  if 
I  had  taken  his  advice  I  should  have  had  nothing 
more  to  tell.  There  would  have  remained  the  dis 
agreeable  coincidence  of  several  suicides  occurring 
among  men  who  had  slept  in  the  same  cabin, 
but  that  would  have  been  all. 

That  was  not  the  end  of  the  matter,  however, 


214  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

by  any  means.  I  obstinately  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  not  be  disturbed  by  such  tales,  and 
I  even  went  so  far  as  to  argue  the  question  with 
the  captain.  There  was  something  wrong  about 
the  state-room,  I  said.  It  was  rather  damp. 
The  porthole  had  been  left  open  last  night. 
My  room-mate  might  have  been  ill  when  he 
came  on  board,  and  he  might  have  become 
delirious  aft^r  he  went  to  bed.  He  might  even 
now  be  hiding  somewhere  on  board,  and  might 
be  found  later.  The  place  ought  to  be  aired 
and  the  fastening  of  the  port  looked  to.  If  the 
captain  would  give  me  leave,  I  would  see  that 
what  1  thought  necessary  were  done  immediately. 

"  Of  course  you  have  a  right  to  stay  where  you 
are  if  you  please,"  he  replied,  rather  petulantly ; 
u  but  I  wish  you  would  turn  out  and  let  me  lock 
the  place  up,  and  be  done  with  it." 

I  did  not  see  it  in  the  same  light,  and  left 
the  captain,  after  promising  to  be  silent  con 
cerning  the  disappearance  of  my  companion. 
The  latter  had  had  no  acquaintances  on  board, 
and  was  not  missed  in  the  course  of  the  day. 
Towards  evening  I  met  the  doctor  again,  and 
he  asked  me  whether  I  had  changed  my  mind. 
I  told  him  I  had  not. 

"  Then  you  will  before  long,"  he  said,  very 
gravely. 


THE   UPPER  BERTH  215 

CHAPTER   III 

WE  played  whist  in  the  evening,  and  I  went 
to  bed  late.  I  will  confess  now  that  I  felt  a 
disagreeable  sensation  when  I  entered  my  state 
room.  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  tall  man 
I  had  seen  on  the  previous  night,  who  was  now 
dead,  drowned,  tossing  about  in  the  long  swell, 
two  or  three  hundred  miles  astern.  His  face 
rose  very  distinctly  before  me  as  1  undressed, 
and  I  even  went  so  far  as  to  draw  back  the 
curtains  of  the  upper  berth,  as  though  to  per 
suade  myself  that  he  was  actually  gone.  I  also 
bolted  the  door  of  the  state-room.  Suddenly  I 
became  aware  that  the  porthole  was  open,  and 
fastened  back.  This  was  more  than  I  could 
stand.  I  hastily  threw  on  my  dressing-gown  and 
went  in  search  of  Robert,  the  steward  of  my  passage. 
I  was  very  angry,  I  remember,  and  when  I  found 
him  I  dragged  him  roughly  to  the  door  of  105, 
and  pushed  him  towards  the  open  porthole. 

"  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean,  you  scoundrel, 
by  leaving  that  port  open  every  night  ?  Don't  you 
know  it  is  against  the  regulations  ?  Don't  you 
know  that  if  the  ship  heeled  and  the  water  began 
to  come  in,  ten  men  could  not  shut  it  ?  I  will 
report  you  to  the  captain,  you  blackguard,  for 
endangering  the  ship!" 


216  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

I  was  exceedingly  wroth.  The  man  trembled 
and  turned  pale,  and  then  began  to  shut  the  round 
glass  plate  with  the  heavy  brass  fittings. 

"  Why  don't  you  answer  me  ?  "  I  said  roughly. 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  faltered  Robert,  "  there's 
nobody  on  board  as  can  keep  this  'ere  port  shut  at 
night.  You  can  try  it  yourself,  sir.  I  ain't  a-go 
ing  to  stop  hany  longer  on  board  o'  this  vessel,  sir; 
I  ain't,  indeed.  But  if  I  was  you,  sir,  I'd  just  clear 
out  and  go  and  sleep  with  the  surgeon,  or  some 
thing,  I  would.  Look  'ere,  sir,  is  that  fastened 
what  you  may  call  securely,  or  not,  sir  ?  Try  it, 
sir,  see  if  it  will  move  a  hinch. 

I  tried  the  port,  and  found  it  perfectly  tight. 

"  Well,  sir,"  continued  Robert,  triumphantly,  "  I 
wager  my  reputation  as  a  Al  steward  that  in  'arf 
an  hour  it  will  be  open  again ;  fastened  back,  too, 
sir,  that's  the  horful  thing  —  fastened  back  !  " 

I  examined  the  great  screw  and  the  looped  nut 
that  ran  on  it. 

"  If  I  find  it  open  in  the  night,  Robert,  I  will  give 
you  a  sovereign.  It  is  not  possible.  You  may  go." 

"  Soverin'  did  you  say,  sir  ?  Very  good,  sir. 
Thank  ye,  sir.  Good-night,  sir.  Pleasant  reepose, 
sir,  and  all  manner  of  hinchantin'  dreams,  sir." 

Robert  scuttled  away,  delighted  at  being  released. 
Of  course,  I  thought  he  was  trying  to  account  for 
his  negligence  by  a  silly  story,  intended  to  frighten 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  217 

me,  and  I  disbelieved  him.  The  consequence  was 
that  he  got  his  sovereign,  and  I  spent  a  very  pecul 
iarly  unpleasant  night. 

I  went  to  bed,  and  five  minutes  after  I  had 
rolled  myself  up  in  my  blankets  the  inexorable 
Robert  extinguished  the  light  that  burned  steadily 
behind  the  ground-glass  pane  near  the  door.  I  lay 
quite  still  in  the  dark  trying  to  go  to  sleep,  but  I 
soon  found  that  impossible.  It  had  been  some 
satisfaction  to  be  angry  with  the  steward,  and  the 
diversion  had  banished  that  unpleasant  sensation  I 
had  at  first  experienced  when  I  thought  of  the 
drowned  man  who  had  been  my  chum ;  but  I  was 
no  longer  sleepy,  and  I  lay  awake  for  some  time, 
occasionally  glancing  at  the  porthole,  which  I  could 
just  see  from  where  I  lay,  and  which,  in  the  darkness, 
looked  like  a  faintly  luminous  soup-plate  suspended 
in  blackness.  I  believe  I  must  have  lain  there  for 
an  hour,  and,  as  I  remember,  I  was  just  dozing 
into  sleep  when  I  was  roused  by  a  draught  of  cold 
air,  and  by  distinctly  feeling  the  spray  of  the  sea 
blown  upon  my  face.  I  started  to  my  feet,  and  not 
having  allowed  in  the  dark  for  the  motion  of  the 
ship,  I  was  instantly  thrown  violently  across  the 
state-room  upon  the  couch  which  was  placed  be 
neath  the  porthole.  I  recovered  myself  immedi 
ately,  however,  and  climbed  upon  my  knees.  The 
porthole  was  again  wide  open  and  fastened  back ! 


218  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Now  these  things  are  facts.  I  was  wide  awake 
when  I  got  up,  and  I  should  certainly  have  been 
waked  by  the  fall  had  I  still  been  dozing.  More 
over,  I  bruised  my  elbows  and  knees  badly,  and 
the  bruises  were  there  on  the  following  morning  to 
testify  to  the  fact,  if  I  myself  had  doubted  it.  The 
porthole  was  wide  open  and  fastened  back  —  a 
thing  so  unaccountable  that  I  remember  very  well 
feeling  astonishment  rather  than  fear  when  I  dis 
covered  it.  I  at  once  closed  the  plate  again,  and 
screwed  down  the  loop  nut  with  all  my  strength. 
It  was  very  dark  in  the  state-room.  I  reflected 
that  the  port  had  certainly  been  opened  within  an 
hour  after  Robert  had  at  first  shut  it  in  my  pres 
ence,  and  I  determined  to  watch  it,  and  see  whether 
it  would  open  again.  Those  brass  fittings  are  very 
heavy  and  by  no  means  easy  to  move ;  I  could  not 
believe  that  the  clump  had  been  turned  by  the 
shaking  of  the  screw.  I  stood  peering  out  through 
the  thick  glass  at  the  alternate  white  and  grey 
streaks  of  the  sea  that  foamed  beneath  the  ship's 
side.  I  must  have  remained  there  a  quarter  of  an 
hour. 

Suddenly,  as  I  stood,  I  distinctly  heard  some 
thing  moving  behind  me  in  one  of  the  berths,  and 
a  moment  afterwards,  just  as  I  turned  instinctively 
to  look —  though  I  could,  of  course,  see  nothing  in 
the  darkness  —  I  heard  a  very  faint  groan.  I 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  219 

sprang  across  the  state-room,  and  tore  the  curtains 
of  the  upper  berth  aside,  thrusting  in  my  hands  to 
discover  if  there  were  any  one  there.  There  was 
some  one. 

I  remember  that  the  sensation  as  I  put  my 
hands  forward  was  as  though  I  were  plunging 
them  into  the  air  of  a  damp  cellar,  and  from  be 
hind  the  curtains  came  a  gust  of  wind  that  smelled 
horribly  of  stagnant  sea-water.  I  laid  hold  of 
something  that  had  the  shape  of  a  man's  arm,  but 
was  smooth,  and  wet,  and  icy  cold.  But  suddenly, 
as  I  pulled,  the  creature  sprang  violently  forward 
against  me,  a  clammy,  oozy  mass,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  heavy  and  wet,  yet  endowed  with  a  sort  of 
supernatural  strength.  I  reeled  across  the  state 
room,  and  in  an  instant  the  door  opened  and  the 
thing  rushed  out.  I  had  not  had  time  to  be  fright 
ened,  and  quickly  recovering  myself,  I  sprang 
through  the  door  and  gave  chase  at  the  top  of  my 
speed,  but  I  was  too  late.  Ten  yards  before  me  I 
could  see  —  I  am  sure  I  saw  it  —  a  dark  shadow 
moving  in  the  dimly  lighted  passage,  quickly  as 
the  shadow  of  a  fast  horse  thrown  before  a  dog 
cart  by  the  lamp  on  a  dark  night.  But  in  a  mo 
ment  it  had  disappeared,  and  I  found  myself  hold 
ing  on  to  the  polished  rail  that  ran  along  the 
bulkhead  where  the  passage  turned  towards  the  com 
panion.  My  hair  stood  on  end,  and  the  cold  per- 


220  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

spiration  rolled  down  my  face.  I  am  not  ashamed 
of  it  in  the  least:  I  was  very  badly  frightened. 

Still  I  doubted  my  senses,  and  pulled  myself 
together.  It  was  absurd,  I  thought.  The  Welsh 
rarebit  I  had  eaten  had  disagreed  with  me.  I  had 
been  in  a  nightmare.  L  made  my  way  back  to  my 
state-room,  and  entered  it  with  an  effort.  The 
whole  place  sinclled  of  stagnant  sea-^ater,  as  it  had 
when  I  had  waked  on  the  previous  evening.  It 
required  my  utmost  strength  to  go  in,  and  grope 
among  my  things  for  a  box  of  wax  lights.  As  I 
lighted  a  railway  reading  lantern  which  I  always 
carry  in  case  I  want  to  read  after  the  lamps  are 
out,  1  perceived  tiiat  the  porthole  was  again  open, 
and  a  sort  of  creeping  horror  began  to  take  posses 
sion  of  me  which  I  never  felt  before,  nor  wish  to 
feel  again.  But  1  got  a  light  and  proceeded  to 
examine  the  upper  berth,  expecting  to  find  it 
drenched  with  sea-water. 

But  I  was  disappointed.  The  bed  had  been 
slept  in,  and  the  smell  of  the  sea  was  strong;  but 
the  bedding  wras  as  dry  as  a  bone.  I  fancied  that 
Robert  had  not  had  the  courage  to  make  the  bed 
after  the  accident  of  the  previous  night  —  it  had 
all  been  a  hideous  dream.  I  drew  the  curtains 
back  as  far  as  I  could  and  examined  the  place 
very  carefully.  It  was  perfectly  dry.  But  the 
porthole  was  open  again.  With  a  sort  of  dull  be- 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  221 

wilderment  of  horror  I  closed  it  and  screwed  it 
down,  and  thrusting  my  heavy  stick  through  the 
brass  loop,  wrenched  it  with  all  my  might,  till  the 
thick  metal  began  to  bend  under  the  pressure. 
Then  I  hooked  my  reading  lantern  into  the  red 
velvet  at  the  head  of  the  couch,  and  sat  down  to 
recover  my  senses  if  I  could.  I  sat  there  all  night, 
unable  to  think  of  rest — hardly  able  to  think  at 
all.  But  the  porthole  remained  closed,  and  I  did 
not  believe  it  would  now  open  again  without  the 
application  of  a  considerable  force. 

The  morning  dawned  at  last,  and  I  dressed  myself 
slowlv,  thinking  over  all  that  had  happened  in  the 
night.  It  was  a  beautiful  day  and  I  went  on  deck, 
glad  to  get  out  into  the  early,  pure  sunshine,  and  to 
smell  the  breeze  from  the  blue  water,  so  different  from 
the  noisome,  stagnant  odour  of  my  state-room.  In 
stinctively  I  turned  aft,  towards  the  surgeon's  cabin. 
There  he  stood,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  taking  his 
morning  airing  precisely  as  on  the  preceding  day. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  he  quietly,  but  looking  at 
me  with  evident  curiosity. 

"  Doctor,  you  were  quite  right,"  said  I.  "  There 
is  something  wrong  about  that  place." 

"I  thought  you  would  change  your  mind,"  he 
answered,  rather  triumphantly.  "  You  have  had  a 
bad  night,  eh  ?  Shall  I  make  you  a  pick-me-up  ? 
I  have  a  capital  recipe." 


222  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  No,  thanks,"  I  cried.  "  But  I  would  like  to 
tell  you  what  happened." 

I  then  tried  to  explain  as  clearly  as  possible 
precisely  what  had  occurred,  not  omitting  to 
state  that  I  had  been  scared  as  I  had  never  been 
scared  in  my  whole  life  before.  I  dwelt  partic 
ularly  on  the  phenomenon  of  the  porthole,  which 
was  a  fact  to  which  I  could  testify,  even  if  the 
rest  had  been  an  illusion.  I  had  closed  it  twice  in 
the  night,  and  the  second  time  I  had  actually  bent 
the  brass  in  wrenching  it  with  my  stick.  I  believe 
I  insisted  a  good  deal  on  this  point. 

"  You  seem  to  think  I  am  likely  to  doubt  the 
story,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling  at  the  detailed 
account  of  the  state  of  the  porthole.  "  I  do  not 
doubt  it  in  the  least.  I  renew  my  invitation  to  you. 
Bring  your  traps  here,  and  take  half  my  cabin." 

"  Come  and  take  half  of  mine  for  one  night,"  I  said. 
"  Help  me  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  this  thing." 

"  You  will  get  to  the  bottom  of  something  else 
if  you  try,"  answered  the  doctor. 

"What?"  Tasked. 

"  The  bottom  of  the  sea.  I  am  going  to  leave 
this  ship.  It  is  not  canny." 

"Then  you  will  not  help  me  to  find  out —  " 

"Not  I,"  said  the  doctor,  quickly.  "It  is  my 
business  to  keep  my  wits  about  me  —  not  to  go 
fiddling  about  with  ghosts  and  things." 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  223 

"Do  you  really  believe  it  is  a  ghost?"  I  en 
quired,  rather  contemptuously.  But  as  I  spoke  I 
remembered  very  well  the  horrible  sensation  of  the 
supernatural  which  had  got  possession  of  me  during 
the  night.  The  doctor  turned  sharply  on  me. 

"  Have  you  any  reasonable  explanation  of  these 
things  to  offer  ?  "  he  asked.  "  No ;  you  have 
not.  Well,  you  say  you  will  find  an  explanation. 
I  say  that  you  won't,  sir,  simply  because  there 
is  not  any. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  I  retorted,  "  do  you,  a  man 
of  science,  mean  to  tell  me  that  such  things  cannot 
be  explained  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  he  answered  stoutly.  "  And,  if  they 
could,  I  would  not  be  concerned  in  the  explana 
tion." 

I  did  not  care  to  spend  another  night  alone 
in  the  state-room,  and  yet  I  was  obstinately 
determined  to  get  at  the  root  of  the  disturbances. 
I  do  not  believe  there  are  many  ?ien  who  would 
have  slept  there  alone,  after  passing  two  such  nights. 
But  I  made  up  my  mind  to  try  it,  if  I  could  not  get 
any  one  to  share  a  watch  with  me.  The  doctor 
was  evidently  not  inclined  for  such  an  experiment. 
He  said  he  was  a  surgeon,  and  that  in  case  any 
accident  occurred  on  board  he  must  be  always  in 
readiness.  He  could  not  afford  to  have  his  nerves 
unsettled.  Perhaps  he  was  quite  right,  but  I  am 


224  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

inclined  to  think  that  his  precaution  was  prompted 
by  his  inclination.  On  enquiry,  he  informed  me 
that  there  was  no  one  on  board  who  would  be 
likely  to  join  me  in  my  investigations,  and  after 
a  little  more  conversation  I  left  him.  A  little 
later  I  met  the  captain,  and  told  him  my  story.  I 
said  that,  if  no  one  would  spend  the  night  with  me, 
I  would  ask  leave  to  have  the  light  burning  all 
night,  and  would  try  it  alone. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he,  "I  will  tell  you  what  I 
will  do.  I  will  share  your  watch  myself,  and  we 
will  see  what  happens.  It  ^s  my  belief  that  we 
can  find  out  between  us.  There  may  be  some 
fellow  skulking  on  board,  who  steals  a  passage  by 
frightening  the  passengers.  It  is  just  possible  that 
there  may  be  something  queer  in  the  carpentering 
of  that  berth." 

I  suggested  taking  the  ship's  carpenter  below 
and  examining  the  place ;  but  I  was  overjoyed  at 
the  captain's  clfer  to  spend  the  night  with  me. 
He  accordingly  sent  for  the  workman  and  ordered 
him  to  do  anything  I  required.  We  went  below 
at  once.  I  had  all  the  bedding  cleared  out  of  the 
upper  berth,  and  we  examined  the  piace  thoroughly 
to  see  if  there  was  a  board  loose  anywhere,  or  a 
panel  which  could  be  opened  or  pushed  aside. 
We  tried  the  planks  everywhere,  tapped  the  floor 
ing,  unscrewed  the  fittings  of  the  lower  berth  and 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  225 

took  it  to  pieces  —  in  short,  there  was  not  a  square 
inch  of  the  state-room  which  was  not  searched  and 
tested.  Everything  was  in  perfect  order,  and  we 
put  everything  back  in  its  place.  As  we  were 
finishing  our  work,  Robert  came  to  the  door  and 
looked  in. 

"Well,  sir  —  find  anything,  sir?"  he  asked, 
with  a  ghastly  grin. 

"  You  were  right  about  the  porthole,  Robert,"  I 
said,  and  I  gave  him  the  promised  sovereign. 
The  carpenter  did  his  work  silently  and  skilfully, 
following  my  directions.  When  he  had  done  he 
spoke. 

"I'm  a  plain  man,  sir,"  he  said.  "But  it's  my 
belief  you  had  better  just  turn  out  your  things, 
and  let  me  run  half  a  dozen  four-inch  screws 
through  the  door  of  this  cabin.  There's  no  good 
never  came  o'  this  cabin  yet,  sir,  and  that's  all 
about  it.  There's  been  four  lives  lost  out  o'  here 
to  my  own  remembrance,  and  that  in  four  trips. 
Better  give  it  up,  sir  —  better  give  it  up  !  " 

"I  will  try  it  for  one  night  more,"  I  said. 

"  Better  give  it  up,  sir  —  better  give  it  up !  It's 
a  precious  bad  job,"  repeated  the  workman,  putting 
his  tools  in  his  bag  and  leaving  the  cabin. 

But  my  spirits  had  risen  considerably  at  the 
prospect  of  having  the  captain's  company,  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  not  to  be  prevented  from  going 


226  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

to  the  end  of  the  strange  business.  I  abstained 
from  Welsh  rarebits  and  grog  that  evening,  and 
did  not  even  join  in  the  customary  game  of  whist. 
I  wanted  to  be  quite  sure  of  my  nerves,  and  my 
vanity  made  me  anxious  to  make  a  good  figure  in 
the  captain's  eyes. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  captain  was  one  of  those  splendidly  tough  and 
cheerful  specimens  of  seafaring  humanity  whose 
combined  courage,  hardihood,  and  calmness  in  diffi 
culty  leads  them  naturally  into  high  positions  of 
trust.  He  was  not  the  man  to  be  led  away  by  an 
idle  tale,  and  the  mere  fact  that  he  was  willing  to 
join  me  in  the  investigation  was  proof  that  he 
thought  there  was  something  seriously  wrong, 
which  could  not  be  accounted  for  on  ordinary 
theories,  nor  laughed  down  as  a  common  supersti 
tion.  To  some  extent,  too,  his  reputation  was  at 
stake,  as  well  as  the  reputation  of  the  ship.  It  is 
no  light  thing  to  lose  passengers  overboard,  and  he 
knew  it. 

About  ten  o'clock  that  evening,  as  I  was  smok 
ing  a  last  cigar,  he  came  up  to  me,  and  drew  me 
aside  from  the  beat  of  the  other  passengers  who 
were  patrolling  the  deck  in  the  warm  darkness. 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  227 

"  This  is  a  serious  matter,  Mr.  Brisbane,"  he 
said.  "  We  must  make  up  our  minds  either  way 
—  to  be  disappointed  or  to  have  a  pretty  rough 
time  of  it.  You  seel  cannot  afford  to  laugh  at  the 
affair,  and  I  will  ask  you  to  sign  your  name  to  a 
statement  of  whatever  occurs.  If  nothing  happens 
to-night,  we  will  try  it  again  to-morrow  and  next 
day.  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

So  we  went  below,  and  entered  the  state-room. 
As  we  went  in  I  could  see  Robert  the  steward,  who 
stood  a  little  further  down  the  passage,  watching 
us,  with  his  usual  grin,  as  though  certain  that  some 
thing  dreadful  was  about  to  happen.  The  captain 
closed  the  door  behind  us  and  bolted  it. 

"  Supposing  we  put  your  portmanteau  before  the 
door,"  he  suggested.  U0ne  of  us  can  sit  on  it. 
Nothing  can  get  out  then.  Is  the  port  screwed 
down?" 

I  found  it  as  I  had  left  it  in  the  morning.  In 
deed,  without  using  a  lever,  as  I  had  done,  no  one 
could  have  opened  it.  I  drew  back  the  curtains  of 
the  upper  berth  so  that  I  could  see  well  into  it. 
By  the  captain's  advice  I  lighted  my  reading  lan 
tern,  and  placed  it  so  that  it  shone  upon  the  white 
sheets  above.  He  insisted  upon  sitting  on  the  port 
manteau,  declaring  that  he  wished  to  be  able  to 
swear  that  he  had  sat  before  the  door. 

Then  he  requested  me  to  search  the  stateroom 


228  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

thoroughly,  an  operation  very  soon  accomplished, 
as  it  consisted  merely  in  looking  beneath  the  lower 
berth  and  under  the  couch  below  the  porthole. 
The  spaces  were  quite  empty. 

"It  is  impossible  for  any  human  being  to  get  in," 
I  said,  "  or  for  any  human  being  to  open  the  port." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  captain,  calmly.  "  If  we 
see  anything  now,  it  must  be  either  imagination  or 
something  supernatural." 

I  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  lower  berth. 

"  The  first  time  it  happened,"  said  the  captain, 
crossing  his  legs  and  leaning  back  against  the  door, 
"  was  in  March.  The  passenger  who  slept  here,  in 
the  upper  berth,  turned  out  to  have  been  a  lunatic 
-  at  all  events,  he  was  known  to  have  been  a  little 
touched,  and  he  had  taken  his  passage  without  the 
knowledge  of  his  friends.  He  rushed  out  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  and  threw  himself  overboard, 
before  the  officer  who  had  the  watch  could  stop 
him.  \Ve  stopped  and  lowered  a  boat ;  it  was  a 
quiet  night,  just  before  that  heavy  weather  came 
on ;  but  we  could  not  find  him.  Of  course  his 
suicide  was  afterwards  accounted  for  on  the  ground 
of  his  insanity." 

"I  suppose  that  often  happens?"  I  remarked, 
rather  absently. 

"Not  often — no,"  said  the  captain;  "never  be 
fore  in  my  experience,  though  I  have  heard  of  it 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  229 

happening  on  board  of  other  ships.  Well,  as  I  was 
saying,  that  occurred  in  March.  On  the  very  next 
trip —  What  are  you  looking  at?"  he  asked, 
stopping  suddenly  in  his  narration. 

I  believe  I  gave  no  answer.  My  eyes  were  riveted 
upon  the  porthole.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  brass 
loop-nut  was  beginning  to  turn  very  slowly  upon 
the  screw  —  so  slowly,  however,  that  I  was  not  sure 
it  moved  at  all.  I  watched  it  intently,  iixing  its 
position  in  my  mind,  and  trying  to  ascertain 
whether  it  changed.  Seeing  where  I  was  looking, 
the  captain  looked  too. 

"  It  moves  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  convic 
tion.  "No,  it  does  not,"  he  added,  after  a  minute. 

"  If  it  were  the  jarring  of  the  screw,"  said  I,  "  it 
would  have  opened  during  the  day ;  but  I  found  it 
this  evening  jammed  tight  as  I  left  it  this  morning." 

I  rose  and  tried  the  nut.  It  was  certainly 
loosened,  for  by  an  effort  I  could  move  it  with  my 
hands. 

"  The  queer  thing,"  said  the  captain,  "  is  that  the 
second  man  who  was  lost  is  supposed  to  have  got 
througli  that  very  port.  We  had  a  terrible  time 
over  it.  It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and 
the  weather  was  very  heavy ;  there  wras  an  alarm 
that  one  of  the  ports  was  open  and  the  sea  running 
in.  I  came  below  and  found  everything  flooded, 
the  water  pouring  in  every  time  she  rolled,  and  the 


230  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

whole  port  swinging  from  the  top  bolts — not  the 
porthole  in  the  middle.  Well,  we  managed  to  shut 
it,  but  the  water  did  some  damage.  Ever  since 
that  the  place  smells  of  sea-water  from  time  to  time. 
We  supposed  the  passenger  had  thrown  himself  out, 
though  the  Lord  only  knows  how  he  did  it.  The 
steward  kept  telling  me  that  he  cannot  keep  any 
thing  shut  here.  Upon  my  word  —  I  can  smell  it 
now,  cannot  you?"  he  enquired,  sniffing  the  air 
suspiciously. 

"Yes  —  distinctly,"  I  said,  and  I  shuddered  as 
that  same  odour  of  stagnant  sea-water  grew  stronger 
in  the  cabin.  "  Now,  to  smell  like  this,  the  place 
must  be  damp,"  I  continued,  "  and  yet  when  I  ex 
amined  it  with  the  carpenter  this  morning  every 
thing  was  perfectly  dry.  It  is  most  extraordinary 
-hallo  !  " 

My  reading  lantern,  which  had  been  placed  in 
the  upper  berth,  was  suddenly  extinguished.  There 
wras  still  a  good  deal  of  light  from  the  pane  of 
ground  glass  near  the  door,  behind  which  loomed 
the  regulation  lamp.  The  ship  rolled  heavily,  and 
the  curtain  of  the  upper  berth  swung  far  out  into 
the  state-room  and  back  again.  I  rose  quickly  from 
my  seat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  the  captain  at 
the  same  moment  started  to  his  feet  with  a  loud  cry 
of  surprise.  I  had  turned  with  the  intention  of 
taking  down  the  lantern  to  examine  it,  when  I  heard 


THE   UPPER  BERTH  231 

his  exclamation,  and  immediately  afterwards  his  call 
for  help.  I  sprang  towards  him.  He  was  wrestling 
with  all  his  might  with  the  brass  loop  of  the  port. 
It  seemed  to  turn  against  his  hands  in  spite  of  all 
his  efforts.  I  caught  up  my  cane,  a  heavy  oak 
stick  I  always  used  to  carry,  and  thrust  it  through 
the  ring  and  hore  on  it  with  all  my  strength.  But 
the  strong  wood  snapped  suddenly,  and  I  fell  upon 
the  couch.  When  I  rose  again  the  port  was  wide 
open,  and  the  captain  was  standing  with  his  back 
against  the  door,  pale  to  the  lips. 

"There  is  something  in  that  berth  !  "  he  cned,  in 
a  strange  voice,  his  eyes  almost  starting  from  his 
head.  "  Hold  the  door,  while  I  look  —  it  shall  not 
escape  us,  whatever  it  is  !  " 

But  instead  of  taking  his  place,  I  sprang  upon 
the  lower  bed,  and  seized  something  which  lay  in 
the  upper  berth. 

It  was  something  ghostly,  horrible  beyond  words, 
and  it  moved  in  my  grip.  It  was  like  the  body  of 
a  man  long  drowned,  and  yet  it  moved,  and  had 
the  strength  of  ten  men  living ;  but  I  gripped  it 
with  all  my  might  —  the  slippery,  oozy,  horrible 
thing  —  the  dead  white  eyes  seemed  to  stare  at 
me  out  of  the  dusk ;  the  putrid  odour  of  rank 
sea-water  was  about  it,  and  its  shiny  hair  hung 
in  foul  wet  curls  over  its  dead  face.  I  wrestled 
with  the  dead  thing;  it  thrust  itself  upon  me 


232  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

and  forced  me  back  and  nearly  broke  my  arms ; 
it  wound  its  corpse's  arms  about  my  neck,  the 
living  death,  and  overpowered  me,  so  that  I,  at 
last,  cried  aloud  and  fell,  and  left  my  hold. 

As  I  fell  the  thing  sprang  across  me,  and  seemed 
to  throw  itself  upon  the  captain.  When  I  last  saw 
him  on  his  feet  his  face  was  white  and  his  lips  set. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  he  struck  a  violent  blow  at 
the  dead  being,  and  then  he,  too,  fell  forward  upon 
his  face,  with  an  inarticulate  cry  of  horror. 

The  thing  paused  an  instant,  seeming  to  hover 
over  his  prostrate  body,  and  I  could  have  screamed 
again  for  very  fright,  but  I  had  no  voice  left.  The 
thing  vanished  suddenly,  and  it  seemed  to  my  dis 
turbed  senses  that  it  made  its  exit  through  the 
open  port,  though  how  that  was  possible,  con 
sidering  the  smallness  of  the  aperture,  is  more 
than  any  one  can  tell.  I  lay  a  long  time  upon 
the  floor,  and  the  captain  lay  beside  me.  At 
last  I  partially  recovered  my  senses  and  moved, 
and  instantly  I  knew  that  my  arm  was  broken 
—  the  small  bone  of  the  left  forearm  near  the 
wrist. 

I  got  upon  my  feet  somehow,  and  with  my 
remaining  hand  I  tried  to  raise  the  captain.  He 
groaned  and  moved,  and  at  last  came  to  himself. 
He  was  not  hurt,  but  he  seemed  badly  stunned. 

Well,  do  you  want  to  hear  any  more  ?     There 


THE  UPPER  BERTH  233 

is  nothing  more.  That  is  the  end  of  my  story. 
The  carpenter  carried  out  his  scheme  of  running 
half  a  dozen  four-inch  screws  through  the  door 
of  105 ;  and  if  ever  you  take  a  passage  in  the 
Kamtschatka,  you  may  ask  for  a  berth  in  that 
state-room.  You  will  be  told  that  it  is  engaged 
-  yes  —  it  is  engaged  by  that  dead  thing. 

I  finished  the  trip  in  the  surgeon's  cabin.  He 
doctored  my  broken  arm,  and  advised  me  not  to 
"fiddle  about  with  ghosts  and  things  "  any  more. 
The  captain  was  very  silent,  and  never  sailed 
again  in  that  ship,  though  it  is  still  running. 
And  I  will  not  sail  in  her  either.  It  was  a  very 
disagreeable  experience,  and  I  was  very  badly 
frightened,  which  is  a  thing  I  do  not  like.  That 
is  all.  That  is  how  I  saw  a  ghost  —  if  it  was  a 
ghost.  It  was  dead,  anyhow. 


BY  THE   WATERS   OF  PAEADISE 


BY   THE    WATERS    OF    PARADISE 

I  KEMEMHFK  my  childhood  very  distinctly.  I  do 
not  think  that  the  fact  argues  a  good  memory,  for 
I  have  never  been  clever  at  learning  words  by 
heart,  in  prose  or  rhyme  ;  so  that  I  believe  my  re 
membrance  of  events  depends  much  more  upon 
the  events  themselves  than  upon  my  possessing 
any  special  facility  for  recalling  them.  Perhaps 
I  am  too  imaginative,  and  the  earliest  impressions 
I  received  were  of  a  kind  to  stimulate  the  imagina 
tion  abnormally.  A  long  series  of  little  misfortunes, 
connected  with  each  other  so  as  to  suggest  a  sort 
of  weird  fatality,  so  worked  upon  my  melancholy 
temperament  when  I  was  a  boy  that,  before  I  was 
of  age,  I  sincerely  believed  myself  to  be  under  a 
curse,  and  not  only  myself,  but  my  whole  family, 
and  every  individual  who  bore  my  name. 

I  was  born  in  the  old  place  where  my  father, 
and  his  father,  and  all  his  predecessors  had  been 
born,  beyond  the  memory  of  man.  It  is  a  very  old 
house,  and  the  greater  part  of  it  was  originally  a 
castle,  strongly  fortified,  and  surrounded  by  a  deep 
moat  supplied  with  abundant  water  from  the  hills 

237 


238  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

by  a  hidden  aqueduct.  Many  of  the  fortifications 
have  been  destroyed,  and  the  moat  has  been  filled 
up.  The  water  from  the  aqueduct  supplies  great 
fountains,  and  runs  down  into  huge  oblong  basins 
in  the  terraced  gardens,  one  below  the  other,  each 
surrounded  by  a  broad  pavement  of  marble  between 
the  water  and  the  flower-beds.  The  waste  surplus 
finally  escapes  through  an  artificial  grotto,  some 
thirty  yards  long,  into  a  stream,  flowing  down 
through  the  park  to  the  meadows  beyond,  and 
thence  to  the  distant  river.  The  buildings  were  ex 
tended  a  little  and  greatly  altered  more  than  two 
hundred  years  ago,  in  the  time  of  Charles  II.,  but 
since  then  little  has  been  done  to  improve  them, 
though  they  have  been  kept  in  fairly  good  repair, 
according  to  our  fortunes. 

In  the  gardens  there  are  terraces  and  huge 
hedges  of  box  and  evergreen,  some  of  which  used 
to  be  clipped  into  shapes  of  animals,  in  the  Italian 
style.  I  can  remember  when  I  was  a  lad  how  I 
used  to  try  to  make  out  what  the  trees  were  cut 
to  represent,  and  how  I  used  to  appeal  for  explana 
tions  to  Judith,  my  Welsh  nurse.  She  dealt  in 
a  strange  mythology  of  her  own,  and  peopled  the 
gardens  with  griffins,  dragons,  good  genii  and  bad, 
and  filled  my  mind  with  them  at  the  same  time. 
My  nursery  window  afforded  a  view  of  the  great 
fountains  at  the  head  of  the  upper  basin,  and  on 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  239 

moonlight  nights  the  Welshwoman  would  hold  me 
up  to  the  glass,  and  bid  me  look  at  the  mist  and 
spray  rising  into  mysterious  shapes,  moving  mysti 
cally  in  the  white  light  like  living  things. 

"  It's  the  Woman  of  the  Water,"  she  used  to  »ay ; 
and  sometimes  she  would  threaten  that,  if  I  did  not  go 
to  sleep,  the  Woman  of  the  Water  would  steal  up  to 
the  high  window  and  carry  me  away  in  her  wet  arms. 

The  place  was  gloomy.  The  broad  basins  of 
water  and  the  tall  evergreen  hedges  gave  it  a 
funereal  look,  and  the  damp-stained  marble  cause 
ways  by  the  pools  might  have  been  made  of  tomb 
stones.  The  grey  and  weather-beaten  walls  and 
towers  without,  the  dark  and  massively  furnished 
rooms  within,  the  deep,  mysterious  recesses  and 
the  heavy  curtains,  all  affected  my  spirits.  I  was 
silent  and  sad  from  my  childhood.  There  was  a 
great  clock-tower  above,  from  which  the  hours 
rang  dismally  during  the  day  and  tolled  like  a 
knell  in  the  dead  of  night.  There  was  no  light 
nor  life  in  the  house,  for  my  mother  was  a  helpless 
invalid,  arid  my  father  had  grown  melancholy  in 
his  long  task  of  caring  for  her.  He  was  a  thin, 
dark  man,  with  sad  eyes ;  kind,  I  think,  but  silent 
and  unhappy.  Next  to  my  mother,  I  believe  he 
loved  me  better  than  anything  on  earth,  for  he 
took  immense  pains  and  trouble  in  teaching  me, 
and  what  he  taught  me  I  have  never  forgotten. 


240  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Perhaps  it  was  his  only  amusement,  and  that  may 
be  the  reason  why  I  hud  no  nursery  governess  or 
teacher  of  any  kind  while  he  lived. 

I  used  to  be  taken  to  see  my  mother  every  day, 
and  sometimes  twice  a  day,  for  an  hour  at  a  time. 
Then  I  sat  u[>on  a  little  stool  near  her  feet,  and 
she  would  ask  me  what  I  had  been  doing,  and 
what  I  wanted  to  do.  1  dare  say  she  saw  already 
tk'>  seeds  of  a  profound  melancholy  in  my  nature, 
for  she  looked  at  me  always  with  a  sad  smile,  and 
kissed  me  with  a  sigh  when  I  was  taken  away. 

One  night,  when  1  was  just  six  years  old,  I  lay 
awake  in  the  nursery.  The  door  was  not  quite 
shut,  and  the  Welsh  nurse  was  sitting  sewing 
in  the  next  room.  Suddenly  I  heard  her  groan, 
and  say  in  a  strange  voice,  "  One  —  two  —  one  — 
two  !  "  1  was  frightened,  and  I  jumped  up  and 
ran  to  the  door,  barefooted  as  I  was. 

"What  is  it,  Judith?"  I  cried,  clinging  to  her 
skirts.  I  can  remember  the  look  in  her  strange 
dark  eyes  as  she  answered. 

<;  One  —  two  leaden  coffins,  fallen  from  the  ceil 
ing  !  "  she  crooned,  working  herself  in  her  chair. 
"  One  —  two  —  a  light  coffin  and  a  heavy  coffin, 
falling  to  the  floor  !  " 

Then  she  seemed  to  notice  me,  and  she  took  me 
back  to  bed  and  sang  nie  to  sleep  with  a  queer  old 
Welsh  song. 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  241 

I  do  not  know  how  it  was,  but  the  impression 
got  hold  of  me  that  she  had  meant  that  my  father 
and  mother  were  going  to  die  very  soon.  They 
died  in  the  very  room  where  she  had  been  sitting 
that  night.  It  was  a  great  room,  my  day  nursery, 
full  of  sun  when  there  was  any  ;  and  when  the 
days  were  dark  it  was  the  most  cheerful  place  in 
the  house.  My  mother  grew  rapidly  worse,  and  I 
was  transferred  to  another  part  of  the  building  to 
make  place  for  her.  They  thought  my  nursery 
was  gayer  for  her,  I  suppose  ;  but  she  could  not 
live.  She  was  beautiful  when  she  was  dead,  and 
I  cried  bitterly. 

"The  light  one,  the  light  one — the  heavy  one 
to  come,"  crooned  the  Welshwoman.  And  she 
was  right.  My  father  took  the  room  after  my 
mother  was  gone,  and  day  by  day  he  grew  thinner 
and  paler  and  sadder. 

"The  heavy  one,  the  heavy  one  —  all  of  lead," 
moaned  my  nurse,  one  night  in  December,  stand 
ing  still,  just  as  she  was  going  to  take  away  the 
light  after  putting  me  to  bed.  Then  she  took  me 
up  again,  and  wrapped  me  in  a  little  gown,  and 
led  me  away  to  i.^y  father's  room.  She  knocked, 
but  no  one  answered.  She  opened  the  door,  and 
we  found  him  in  his  easy-chair  before  the  fire,  very 
white,  quite  dead. 

So    I    was    alone   with   the    Welshwoman    1:1 


242  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

strange  people  came,  and  relations,  whom  I  had 
never  seen  ;  and  then  I  heard  them  saying  that  I 
must  be  taken  away  to  some  more  cheerful  place. 
They  were  kind  people,  and  I  will  not  believe  that 
they  were  kind  only  because  I  was  to  be  very  rich 
when  I  grew  to  be  a  man.  The  world  never 
seemed  to  be  a  very  bad  place  to  me,  nor  all  the 
people  to  be  miserable  sinners,  even  when  I  was 
most  melancholy.  I  do  not  remember  that  any 
one  ever  did  me  any  great  injustice,  nor  that  I  was 
ever  oppressed  or  ill-treated  in  any  way,  even  by 
the  boys  at  school.  I  was  sad,  I  suppose,  because 
my  childhood  was  so  gloomy,  and,  later,  because  I 
was  unlucky  in  everything  I  undertook,  till  I 
finally  believed  I  was  pursued  by  fate,  and  I  used 
to  dream  that  the  old  Welsh  nurse  and  the  Woman 
of  the  Water  between  them  had  vowed  to  pursue 
me  to  my  end.  But  my  natural  disposition  should 
have  been  cheerful,  as  I  have  often  thought. 

Among  lads  of  my  age  I  was  never  last,  or  even 
among  the  last,  in  anything;  but  I  was  never  first. 
If  I  trained  for  a  race,  I  was  sure  to  sprain  my 
ankle  on  the  day  when  I  was  to  run.  If  I  pulled 
an  oar  with  others,  my  oar  was  sure  to  break.  If 
I  competed  for  a  prize,  some  unforseen  accident 
prevented  my  winning  it  at  the  last  moment. 
Nothing  to  which  I  put  my  hand  succeeded,  and  I 
got  the  reputation  of  being  unlucky,  until  my  com- 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  243 

panions  felt  it  was  always  safe  to  bet  against  me, 
no  matter  what  the  appearances  might  be.  I  be 
came  discouraged  and  listless  in  everything.  I 
gave  up  the  idea  of  competing  for  any  distinction 
at  the  University,  comforting  myself  with  the 
thought  that  I  could  not  fail  in  the  examination 
for  the  ordinary  degree.  The  day  before  the  ex 
amination  began  I  fell  ill;  and  when  at  last  I 
recovered,  after  a  narrow  escape  from  death,  I 
turned  my  back  upon  Oxford,  and  went  down 
alone  to  visit  the  old  place  where  I  had  been  born, 
feeble  in  health  and  profoundly  disgusted  and  dis 
couraged.  I  was  twenty-one  years  of  age,  master 
of  myself  and  of  my  fortune ;  but  so  deeply 
had  the  long  chain  of  small  unlucky  circumstances 
affected  me,  that  I  thought  seriously  of  shutting 
myself  up  from  the  world  to  live  the  life  of  a  hermit, 
and  to  die  as  soon  as  possible.  Death  seemed  the 
only  cheerful  possibility  in  my  existence,  and  my 
thoughts  soon  dwelt  upon  it  altogether. 

I  had  never  shown  any  wish  to  return  to  my 
own  home  since  I  had  been  taken  away  as  a  little 
boy,  and  no  one  had  ever  pressed  me  to  do  so. 
The  place  had  been  kept  in  order  after  a  fashion, 
and  did  not  seem  to  have  suffered  during  the  fifteen 
years  or  more  of  rny  absence.  Nothing  earthly 
could  affect  those  old  grey  walls  that  had  fought 
the  elements  for  so  many  centuries.  The  garden 


244  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

was  more  wild  than  I  remembered  it ;  the  marble 
causeways  about  the  pools  looked  more  yellow  and 
damp  than  of  old,  and  the  whole  place  at  first 
looked  smaller.  It  was  not  until  I  had  wandered 
about  the  house  and  grounds  for  many  hours  that 
I  realised  the  huge  size  of  the  home  where  I  was  to 
live  in  solitude.  Then  I  began  to  delight  in  it, 
and  my  resolution  to  live  alone  grew  stronger. 

The  people  had  turned  out  to  welcome  me,  of 
course,  and  I  tried  to  recognise  the  changed  faces  of 
the  old  gardener  and  the  old  housekeeper,  and  to  call 
them  by  name.  My  old  nurse  I  knew  at  once.  She 
had  grown  very  grey  since  she  hear  1  the  coffins  fall  in 
the  nursery  fifteen  years  before,  but  her  strange  eyes 
were  the  same,  and  the  look  in  them  woke  all  my 
old  memories.  She  went  over  the  house  with  me. 

"  And  how  is  the  Woman  of  the  Water  ? "  I 
asked,  trying  to  laugh  a  little.  "Does  she  still 
play  in  the  moonlight  ?  '; 

"  She  is  hungry,"  answered  the  Welshwoman,  in 
a  low  voice. 

"Hungry  ?  Then  we  will  feed  her."  I  laughed. 
But  old  Judith  turned  very  pale,  and  looked  at  me 
strangely. 

"  Feed  her  ?  Ay  -  -  you  will  feed  her  well," 
she  muttered,  glancing  behind  her  at  the  ancient 
housekeeper,  who  tottered  after  us  with  feeble 
steps  through  the  halls  and  passages. 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  245 

I  did  not  think  much  of  her  words.  She  had 
always  talked  oddly,  as  Welshwomen  will,  and 
though  I  was  very  melancholy  I  am  sure  I  was 
not  superstitious,  and  I  was  certainly  not  timid. 
Only,  as  in  a  far-off  dream,  I  seemed  to  see  her 
standing  with  the  light  in  her  hand  and  muttering, 
"The  heavy  one  —  all  of  lead,"  and  then  leading 
a  little  boy  through  the  long  corridors  to  see  his 
father  lying  dead  in  a  great  easy-chair  before  a 
smouldering  fire.  So  we  went  over  the  house,  and 
I  chose  the  rooms  where  I  would  live ;  and  the 
servants  I  had  brought  with  me  ordered  and 
arranged  everything,  and  I  had  no  more  trouble. 
I  did  not  care  what  they  did,  provided  I  was  left 
in  peace,  and  was  not  expected  to  give  directions  ; 
for  I  was  more  listless  than  ever,  owing  to  the 
effects  of  my  illness  at  college. 

I  dined  in  solitary  state,  and  the  melancholy 
grandeur  of  the  vast  old  dining-room  pleased 
me.  Then  I  went  to  the  room  I  had  selected 
for  my  study,  and  sat  down  in  a  deep  chair, 
under  a  bright  light,  to  think,  or  to  let  my 
thoughts  meander  through  labyrinths  of  their 
own  choosing,  utterly  indifferent  to  the  course 
they  might  take. 

The  tall  windows  of  the  room  opened  to  the 
level  of  the  ground  upon  the  terrace  at  the 
head  of  the  garden.  It  was  in  the  end  of  July, 


246  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

and  everything  was  open,  for  the  weather  was 
warm.  As  I  sat  alone  I  heard  the  unceasing 
plash  of  the  great  fountains,  and  I  fell  to  think 
ing  of  tin;  Woman  of  the  Water.  I  rose,  and 
wi'iit  out  into  tin-  still  night,  and  sat  down  upon 
a  seat  on  the  terrace,  between  two  gigantic  Italian 
flower-pots.  The  air  was  deliciously  soft  and 
sweet  with  the  smell  of  the  flowers,  and  the 
garden  was  more  congenial  to  me  than  the  house. 
Sad  people  always  like  running  water  and  the 
sound  of  it  at  night,  though  I  cannot  tell  why. 
1  sat  and  listened  in  the  gloom,  for  it  was  dark 
below,  and  the  pale  moon  had  not  yet  climbed 
over  the  hills  in  front  of  me,  though  all  the  air 
above  was  light  with  her  rising  beams.  Slowly 
the  white  halo  in  the  eastern  sky  ascended  in 
an  arch  above  the  wooded  crests,  making  the 
outline  of  the  mountains  more  intensely  black 
by  contrast,  as  though  the  head  of  some  great 
white  saint  were  rising  from  behind  a  screen 
in  a  vast  cathedral,  throwing  misty  glories  from 
below.  I  longed  to  see  the  moon  herself,  and 
tried  to  reckon  the  seconds  before  she  must 
appear.  Then  she  sprang  up  quickly,  and  in 
a  moment  more  hung  round  and  perfect  in  the 
sky.  I  gazed  at  her,  and  then  at  the  floating 
spray  of  the  tall  fountains,  and  down  at  the 
pools,  where  the  water-lilies  were  rocking  softly 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  247 

in  their  sleep  on  the  velvet  surface  of  the  moon 
lit  water.  Just  then  a  great  swan  floated  out 
silently  into  the  midst  of  the  basin,  and  wreathed 
his  long  neck,  catching  the  water  in  his  broad 
bill,  and  scattering  showers  of  diamonds  around 
him. 

Suddenly,  as  I  gazed,  something  came  between 
me  and  the  light.  I  looked  up  instantly.  Be 
tween  me  and  the  round  disc  of  the  moon  rose 
a  luminous  face  of  a  woman,  with  great  strange 
eyes,  and  a  woman's  mouth,  full  and  soft,  but 
not  smiling,  hooded  in  black,  staring  at  me  as 
I  sat  still  upon  my  bench.  She  was  close  to  me 
—  so  close  that  I  could  have  touched  her  with 
my  hand.  But  I  was  transfixed  and  helpless. 
She  stood  still  for  a  moment,  but  her  expression 
did  not  change.  Then  she  passed  swiftly  away, 
and  my  hair  stood  up  on  my  head,  while  the  cold 
breeze  from  her  white  dress  was  wafted  to  my 
temples  as  she  moved.  The  moonlight,  shining 
through  the  tossing  spray  of  the  fountain,  made 
traceries  of  shadow  on  the  gleaming  folds  of 
her  garments.  In  an  instant  she  was  gone, 
and  1  was  alone. 

I  was  strangely  shaken  by  the  vision,  and 
some  time  passed  before  I  could  rise  to  my  feet, 
for  I  was  still  weak  from  my  illness,  and  the 
sight  I  had  seen  would  have  startled  any  one. 


248  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

I  did  not  reason  with  myself,  for  I  was  certain 
that  I  had  looked  on  the  unearthly,  and  no  argu 
ment  could  have  destroyed  that  belief.  At  last 
I  got  up  and  stood  unsteadily,  gazing  in  the 
direction  in  which  I  thought  the  figure  had  gone ; 
but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  —  nothing  but 
the  broad  paths,  the  tall,  dark  evergreen  hedges, 
the  tossing  water  of  the  fountains  and  the  smooth 
pool  below.  I  fell  back  upon  the  seat  and  recalled 
the  face  I  had  seen.  Strange  to  say,  now  that 
the  first  impression  had  passed,  there  was  nothing 
startling  in  the  recollection ;  on  the  contrary,  I 
felt  that  I  was  fascinated  by  the  face,  and  would 
give  anything  to  see  it  again.  I  could  retrace 
the  beautiful  straight  features,  the  long  dark 
eyes  and  the  wonderful  mouth,  most  exactly  in 
my  mind,  and,  when  I  had  reconstructed  every 
detail  from  memory,  I  knew  that  the  whole  was 
beautiful,  and  that  I  should  love  a  woman  with 
such  a  face. 

"  I  wonder  whether  she  is  the  Woman  of  the 
Water  !  "  I  said  to  myself.  Then  rising  once  more 
I  wandered  down  the  garden,  descending  one  short 
flight  of  steps  after  another,  from  terrace  to  terrace 
by  the  edge  of  the  marble  basins,  through  the  sha 
dow  and  through  the  moonlight ;  and  I  crossed  the 
water  by  the  rustic  bridge  above  the  artificial 
grotto,  and  climbed  slowly  up  again  to  the  highest 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  249 

terrace  by  the  other  side.  The  air  seemed  sweeter, 
and  I  was  very  calm,  so  that  I  think  I  smiled  to  my 
self  as  I  walked,  as  though  a  new  happiness  had  come 
to  me.  The  woman's  face  seemed  always  before  me, 
and  the  thought  of  it  gave  me  an  unwonted  thrill 
of  pleasure,  unlike  anything  I  had  ever  felt  before. 

I  turned,  as  I  reached  the  house,  and  looked 
back  upon  the  scene.  It  had  certainly  changed  in 
the  short  hour  since  I  had  come  out,  and  my  mood 
had  changed  with  it.  Just  like  my  luck,  I  thought, 
to  fall  in  love  with  a  ghost !  But  in  old  times  I 
would  have  sighed,  and  gone  to  bed  more  sad  than 
ever,  at  such  a  melancholy  conclusion.  To-night  I 
felt  happy,  almost  for  the  first  time  in  niy  life. 
The  gloomy  old  study  seemed  cheerful  when  I  went 
in.  The  old  pictures  on  the  walls  smiled  at  me, 
and  I  sat  down  in  my  deep  chair  with  a  new  and 
delightful  sensation  that  I  was  not  alone.  The 
idea  of  having  seen  a  ghost,  and  of  feeling  much 
the  better  for  it,  was  so  absurd  that  I  laughed 
softly,  as  I  took  up  one  of  the  books  I  had  brought 
with  me  and  began  to  read. 

That  impression  did  not  wear  off.  I  slept  peace 
fully,  and  in  the  morning  I  threw  open  my  windows 
to  the  summer  air,  and  looked  down  at  the  garden, 
at  the  stretches  of  green  and  at  the  coloured  flower 
beds,  at  the  circling  swallows,  and  at  the  bright 
water. 


250  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  A  man  might  make  a  paradise  of  this  place,"  I 
exclaimed.  "  A  man  and  a  woman  together  !  " 

From  that  day  the  old  castle  no  longer  seemed 
gloomy,  and  I  think  I  ceased  to  be  sad ;  for  some 
time,  too,  I  began  to  take  an  interest  in  the  place, 
and  to  try  and  make  it  more  alive.  I  avoided  my 
old  Welsh  nurse,  lest  she  should  damp  my  hu 
mour  with  some  dismal  prophecy,  and  recall  my  old 
self  by  bringing  back  memories  of  my  dismal  child 
hood.  But  what  I  thought  of  most  was  the  ghostly 
figure  I  had  seen  in  the  garden  that  first  night  after 
my  arrival.  I  went  out  every  evening  and  wan 
dered  through  the  walks  and  paths ;  but,  try  as  I 
might,  I  did  not  see  my  vision  again.  At  last, 
after  many  days,  the  memory  grew  more  faint,  and 
my  old  moody  nature  gradually  overcame  the  tem 
porary  sense  of  lightness  I  had  experienced.  The 
summer  turned  to  autumn,  and  I  grew  restless.  It 
began  to  rain.  The  dampness  pervaded  the  gar 
dens,  and  the  outer  halls  smelled  musty,  like  tombs ; 
the  grey  sky  oppressed  me  intolerably.  I  left  the 
place  as  it  was  and  went  abroad,  determined  to  try 
anything  which  might  possibly  make  a  second 
break  in  the  monotonous  melancholy  from  which 
I  suffered. 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  251 


CHAPTER   II 

MOST  people  would  be  struck  by  the  utter  insignifi 
cance  of  the  small  events  which,  after  the  death  of 
my  parents  influenced  my  life  and  made  me  un 
happy.  The  gruesome  forebodings  of  a  Welsh 
nurse,  which  chanced  to  be  realised  by  an  odd  coin 
cidence  of  events,  should  not  seem  enough  to  change 
the  nature  of  a  child,  and  to  direct  the  bent  of  his 
character  in  after  years.  The  little  disappointments 
of  schoolboy  life,  and  the  somewhat  less  childish 
ones  of  an  uneventful  and  undistinguished  aca 
demic  career,  should  not  have  sufficed  to  turn  me 
out  at  one-and-tvventy  years  of  age  a  melancholic, 
listless  idler.  Some  weakness  of  my  own  character 
may  have  contributed  to  the  result,  but  in  a  greater 
degree  it  was  due  to  my  having  a  reputation  for 
bad  luck.  However,  I  will  not  try  to  analyse  the 
causes  of  my  state,  for  I  should  satisfy  nobody, 
least  of  all  myself.  Still  less  will  I  attempt  to  ex 
plain  why  I  felt  a  temporary  revival  of  my  spirits 
after  my  adventure  in  the  garden.  It  is  certain 
that  I  was  in  love  with  the  face  I  had  seen,  and 
that  I  longed  to  see  it  again  ;  that  I  gave  up  all 
hope  of  a  second  visitation,  grew  more  sad  than 
ever,  packed  up  my  traps,  and  finally  went  abroad. 
But  in  my  dreams  I  went  back  to  my  home,  and  it 


252  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

always  appeared  to  me  sunny  and  bright,  as  it  had 
looked  on  that  summer's  morning  after  I  had  seen 
the  woman  by  the  fountain. 

I  went  to  Paris.  I  went  further,  and  wandered 
about  Germany.  I  tried  to  amuse  myself,  and 
I  failed  miserably.  With  the  aimless  whims  of  an 
idle  and  useless  man,  came  all  sorts  of  suggestions 
for  good  resolutions.  One  day  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  go  and  bury  myself  in  a  German  uni 
versity  for  a  time,  and  live  simply  like  a  poor  stu 
dent.  I  started  with  the  intention  of  going  to 
Leipzic,  determined  to  stay  there  until  some  event 
should  direct  my  life  or  change  my  humour,  or 
make  an  end  of  me  altogether.  The  express  train 
stopped  at  some  station  of  which  I  did  not  know  the 
name.  It  wras  dusk  on  a  winter's  afternoon,  and 
I  peered  through  the  thick  glass  from  my  seat. 
Suddenly  another  train  came  gliding  in  from  the 
opposite  direction,  and  stopped  alongside  of  ours. 
I  looked  at  the  carriage  which  chanced  to  be  abreast 
of  mine,  and  idly  read  the  black  letters  painted  on 
a  white  board  swinging  from  the  brass  handrail : 
"  BERLIN  —  COLOGNE  —  PARIS."  Then  I  looked 
up  at  the  window  above.  I  started  violently  and 
the  cold  perspiration  broke  out  upon  my  forehead, 
In  the  dim  light,  not  six  feet  from  where  I  sat,  I 
saw  the  face  of  a  woman,  the  face  I  loved,  the 
straight,  fine  features,  the  strange  eyes,  the  wonder- 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  253 

ful  mouth,  the  pale  skin.  Her  head-dress  was  a 
dark  veil  which  seemed  to  be  tied  about  her  head 
and  passed  over  the  shoulders  under  her  chin.  As 
I  threw  down  the  window  and  knelt  on  the  cushioned 
seat,  leaning  far  out  to  get  a  better  view,  a  long 
whistle  screamed  through  the  station,  followed  by 
a  quick  series  of  dull,  clanking  sounds ;  then  there 
was  a  slight  jerk,  and  my  train  moved  on.  Luckily 
the  window  was  narrow,  being  the  one  over  the  seat, 
beside  the  door,  or  I  believe  I  would  have  jumped 
out  of  it  then  and  there.  In  an  instant  the  speed 
increased,  and  I  was  being  carried  swiftly  away 
in  the  opposite  direction  from  the  thing  I  loved. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  lay  back  in  my 
place,  stunned  by  the  suddenness  of  the  appari 
tion.  At  last  one  of  the  two  other  passengers,  a 
large  and  gorgeous  captain  of  the  White  Konigs- 
berg  Cuirassiers,  civilly  but  firmly  suggested  that 
I  might  shut  my  window,  as  the  evening  was  cold. 
I  did  so,  with  an  apology,  and  relapsed  into  si 
lence.  The  train  ran  swiftly  on  for  a  long  time, 
and  it  was  already  beginning  to  slacken  speed 
before  entering  another  station  when  I  roused 
myself,  and  made  a  sudden  resolution.  As  the 
carriage  stopped  before  the  brilliantly  lighted  plat 
form,  I  seized  my  belongings,  saluted  my  fellow- 
passengers,  and  got  out,  determined  to  take  the 
first  express  back  to  Paris. 


254  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

This  time  the  circumstances  of  the  vision  had 
been  so  natural  that  it  did  not  strike  me  that  there 
was  anything  unreal  about  the  face,  or  about  the 
woman  to  whom  it  belonged.  I  did  not  try  to  ex 
plain  to  myself  how  the  face,  and  the  woman, 
could  be  travelling  by  a  fast  train  from  Berlin  to 
Paris  on  a  winter's  afternoon,  when  both  were  in 
my  mind  indelibly  associated  with  the  moonlight 
and  the  fountains  in  my  own  English  home.  I 
certainly  would  not  have  admitted  that  I  had  been 
mistaken  in  the  dusk,  attributing  to  what  I  had 
seen  a  resemblance  to  my  former  vision  which  did 
not  really  exist.  There  was  not  the  slightest 
doubt  in  my  mind,  and  I  was  positively  sure  that 
I  had  again  seen  the  face  I  loved.  I  did  not  hesi 
tate,  and  in  a  few  hours  I  was  on  my  way  back  to 
Paris.  I  could  not  help  reflecting  on  my  ill-luck. 
Wandering  as  I  had  been  for  many  months,  it 
might  as  easily  have  chanced  that  I  should  be 
travelling  in  the  same  train  with  that  woman,  in 
stead  of  going  the  other  way.  But  my  luck  was 
destined  to  turn  for  a  time. 

I  searched  Paris  for  several  days.  I  dined  at 
the  principal  hotels;  I  went  to  the  theatres;  I 
rode  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  in  the  morning,  and 
picked  up  an  acquaintance,  whom  I  forced  to  drive 
with  me  in  the  afternoon.  I  went  to  mass  at  the 
Madeleine,  and  I  attended  the  services  at  the  Eng- 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  255 

lish  Church.  I  hung  about  the  Louvre  and  Notre 
Dame.  I  went  to  Versailles.  I  spent  hours  in 
parading  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Meurice's  corner,  where  foreigners  pass  and  re- 
pass  from  morning  till  night.  At  last  I  received 
an  invitation  to  a  reception  at  the  English  Em 
bassy.  I  went,  and  I  found  what  I  had  sought 
so  long. 

There  she  was,  sitting  by  an  old  lady  in  grey 
satin  and  diamonds,  who  had  a  wrinkled  but 
kindly  face  and  keen  grey  eyes  that  seemed  to 
take  in  everything  they  saw,  with  very  little  in 
clination  to  give  much  in  return.  But  I  did  not 
notice  the  chaperon.  I  saw  only  the  face  that  had 
haunted  me  for  months,  and  in  the  excitement  of 
the  moment  I  walked  quickly  towards  the  pair, 
forgetting  such  a  trifle  as  the  necessity  for  an  in 
troduction. 

She  was  far  more  beautiful  than  I  had  thought, 
but  I  never  doubted  that  it  was  she  herself  and 
no  other.  Vision  or  no  vision  before,  this  was  the 
reality,  and  I  knew  it.  Twice  her  hair  had  been 
covered,  now  at  last  I  saw  it,  and  the  added  beauty 
of  its  magnificence  glorified  the  whole  woman.  It 
was  rich  hair,  fine  and  abundant,  golden,  with  deep 
ruddy  tints  in  it  like  red  bronze  spun  fine.  There 
was  no  ornament  in  it,  not  a  rose,  not  a  thread  of 
gold,  and  I  felt  that  it  needed  nothing  to  enhance 


256  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

its  splendour;  nothing  but  her  pale  face,  her  dark 
strange  eyes,  and  her  heavy  eyebrows.  I  could 
see  that  she  was  slender,  too,  but  strong  withal,  as 
she  sat  there  quietly  gazing  at  the  moving  scene 
in  the  midst  of  the  brilliant  lights  and  the  hum  of 
perpetual  conversation. 

I  recollected  the  detail  of  introduction  in  time, 
and  turned  aside  to  look  for  my  host.  I  found 
him  at  last.  I  begged  him  to  present  me  to  the 
two  ladies,  pointing  them  out  to  him  at  the  same 
time. 

"  Yes  —  uh  —  by  all  means  —  uh  —  "  replied  his 
Excellency,  with  a  pleasant  smile.  He  evidently 
had  no  idea  of  my  name,  which  was  not  to  be 
wondered  at. 

"  I  am  Lord  Cairngorm,"  I  observed. 

"  Oh  —  by  all  means,"  answered  the  Ambas 
sador,  with  the  same  hospitable  smile.  "Yes  — 
uh  —  the  fact  is,  I  must  try  and  find  out  who  they 
are  ;  such  lots  of  people,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  if  you  will  present  me,  I  will  try  and  find 
out  for  you,"  said  I,  laughing. 

"Ah,  yes  —  so  kind  of  you  —  come  along," 
said  my  host. 

We  threaded  the  crowd,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
we  stood  before  the  two  ladies. 

"  'Lowmintrduce  L'd  Cairngorm,"  he  said ; 
then,  adding  quickly  to  me,  "Come  and  dine 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  257 

to-morrow,  won't  you?"  he  glided  away  with  his 
pleasant  smile,  and  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

I  sat  down  beside  the  beautiful  girl,  conscious 
that  the  eyes  of  the  duenna  were  upon  me. 

'•  I  think  we  have  been  very  near  meeting 
before,"  I  remarked,  by  way  of  opening  the 
conversation. 

My  companion  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  me 
with  an  air  of  enquiry.  She  evidently  did  not 
recall  my  face,  if  she  had  ever  seen  me. 

"  Really  —  I  cannot  remember,"  she  observed, 
in  a  low  and  musical  voice.  "When?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  came  down  from 
Berlin  by  the  express,  ten  days  ago.  I  wras  going 
the  other  way,  and  our  carriages  stopped  opposite 
each  other.  I  saw  you  at  the  window." 

"  Yes  —  we  came  that  way,  but  I  do  not 
remember  —  "  She  hesitated. 

"  Secondly,"  I  continued,  "  I  was  sitting  alone 
in  my  garden  last  summer  —  near  the  end  of 
July  —  do  you  remember  ?  You  must  have 
wandered  in  there  through  the  park  ;  you  came 
up  to  the  house  and  looked  at  me  —  " 

"  Was  that  you  ?  "  she  asked,  in  evident  surprise. 
Then  she  broke  into  a  laugh.  "I  told  everybody 
I  had  seen  a  ghost ;  there  had  never  been  any 
Cairngorms  in  the  place  since  the  memory  of  man. 
We  left  the  next  day,  and  never  heard  that  you 


258  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

had  come  there ;  indeed,  I  did  not  know  the  castle 
belonged  to  you." 

"  Where  were  you  staying?"  I  asked. 

"  Where  ?  Why,  with  my  aunt,  where  I  always 
stay.  She  is  your  neighbour,  since  it  w  you." 

"I --beg  your  pardon  —  but  then  —  is  your 
aunt  Lady  Bluebell  ?  I  did  not  quite  catch  - 

"  Don't  be  afraid.  She  is  amazingly  deaf.  Yes. 
She  is  the  relict  of  my  beloved  uncle,  the  sixteenth 
or  seventeenth  Baron  Bluebell  —  I  forget  exactly 
how  many  of  them  there  have  been.  And  I  —  do 
you  know  who  I  am  ?  "  She  laughed,  well  knowing 
that  I  did  not. 

"  No,"  I  answered  frankly.  "  I  have  not  the 
least  idea.  I  asked  to  be  introduced  because  I 
recognised  you.  Perhaps  —  perhaps  you  are  a 
Miss  Bluebell?" 

"  Considering  that  you  are  a  neighbour,  I  will  tell 
you  who  I  am,"  she  answered.  "  No  ;  I  am  of  the 
tribe  of  Bluebells,  but  my  name  is  Lammas,  and  I 
have  been  given  to  understand  that  I  was  chris 
tened  Margaret.  Being  a  floral  family,  they  call 
me  Daisy.  A  dreadful  American  man  once  told 
me  that  my  aunt  was  a  Bluebell  and  that  I  was  a 
Harebell  —  with  two  1's  and  an  e  —  because  my 
hair  is  so  thick.  I  warn  you,  so  that  you  may 
avoid  making  such  a  bad  pun." 

"Do  I  look  like  a  man  who  makes  puns?"  I 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  259 

asked,  being  very  conscious  of  my  melancholy  face 
and  sad  looks. 

Miss  Lammas  eyed  me  critically. 

"  No ;  you  have  a  mournful  temperament.  I 
think  I  can  trust  you,"  she  answered.  "  Do  you 
think  you  could  communicate  to  my  aunt  the  fact 
that  you  are  a  Cairngorm  and  a  neighbour  ?  I  am 
sure  she  would  like  to  know." 

I  leaned  towards  the  old  lady,  inflating  my 
lungs  for  a  yell.  But  Miss  Lammas  stopped  me. 

"  That  is  not  of  the  slightest  use/'  she  remarked. 
"  You  can  write  it  on  a  bit  of  paper.  She  is 
utterly  deaf." 

"  I  have  a  pencil,"  I  answered,  "  but  I  have  no 
paper.  Would  my  cuff  do,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  !  "  replied  Miss  Lammas,  with  alacrity  ; 
"  men  often  do  that." 

I  wrote  on  my  cuff :  "  Miss  Lammas  wishes  me 
to  explain  that  I  am  your  neighbour,  Cairngorm." 
Then  I  held  out  my  arm  before  the  old  lady's  nose. 
She  seemed  perfectly  accustomed  to  the  proceeding, 
put  up  her  glasses,  read  the  words,  smiled,  nodded, 
and  addressed  me  in  the  unearthly  voice  peculiar 
to  people  who  hear  nothing. 

"  I  knew  your  grandfather  very  well,"  she  said. 
Then  she  smiled  and  nodded  to  me  again,  and  to 
her  niece,  and  relapsed  into  silence. 

It    is    all    right,"    remarked    Miss    Lammas. 


.. 


260  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"Aunt  Bluebell  knows  she  is  deaf,  and  does  not 
say  much,  like  the  parrot.  You  see,  she  knew  your 
grandfather.  How  odd,  that  we  should  be  neigh 
bours  !  Why  have  we  never  met  before  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  told  me  you  knew  my  grandfather 
when  you  appeared  in  the  garden,  I  should  not 
have  been  in  the  least  surprised/*  I  answered 
rather  irrelevantly.  "  I  really  thought  you  were 
the  ghost  of  the  old  fountain.  How  in  the  world 
did  you  come  there  at  that  hour  ?  " 

"  We  were  a  large  party,  and  we  went  out  for 
a  walk.  Then  we  thought  we  should  like  to  see 
what  your  park  was  like  in  the  moonlight,  and  so 
we  trespassed.  I  got  separated  from  the  rest,  and 
came  upon  you  by  accident,  just  as  I  was  admiring 
the  extremely  ghostly  look  of  your  house,  and  won 
dering  whether  anybody  would  ever  come  and  live 
there  again.  It  looks  like  the  castle  of  Macbeth,  or  a 
scene  from  the  opera.  Do  you  know  anybody  here  ?  " 

"Hardly  a  soul.      Do  you?" 

"  No.  Aunt  Bluebell  said  it  was  our  duty  to 
come.  It  is  easy  for  her  to  go  out ;  she  does  not 
bear  the  burden  of  the  conversation." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  find  it  a  burden,"  said  I. 
"  Shall  I  go  away  ?  " 

Miss  Lammas  looked  at  me  with  a  sudden  grav 
ity  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  there  was  a  sort  of 
hesitation  about  the  lines  of  her  full,  soft  mouth. 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  261 

"  No,"  she  said  at  last,  quite  simply,  "  don't  go 
away.  We  may  like  each  other,  if  you  stay  a 
little  longer  —  and  we  ought  to  because  we  are 
neighbours  in  the  country." 

I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  thought  Miss  Lammas 
a  very  odd  girl.  There  is,  indeed,  a  sort  of  free 
masonry  between  people  who  discover  that  they 
live  near  each  other,  and  that  they  ought  to  have 
known  each  other  before.  But  there  was  a  sort 
of  unexpected  frankness  and  simplicity  in  the  girl's 
amusing  manner  which  would  have  struck  any  one 
else  as  being  singular,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  To 
me,  however,  it  all  seemed  natural  enough.  I  had 
dreamed  of  her  face  too  long  not  to  be  utterly 
happy  when  I  met  her  at  last,  and  could  talk  to 
her  as  much  as  I  pleased.  To  me,  the  man  of  ill- 
luck  in  everything,  the  whole  meeting  seemed  too 
good  to  be  true.  I  felt  again  that  strange  sensa 
tion  of  lightness  which  I  had  experienced  after  I 
had  seen  her  face  in  the  garden.  The  great  rooms 
seemed  brighter,  life  seemed  worth  living;  my 
sluggish,  melancholy  blood  ran  faster,  and  filled 
me  with  a  new  sense  of  strength.  I  said  to  myself 
that  without  this  woman  I  was  but  an  imperfect 
being,  but  that  with  her  I  could  accomplish  every 
thing  to  which  I  should  set  my  hand.  Like  the 
great  Doctor,  when  he  thought  he  had  cheated 
Mephistopheles  at  last,  I  could  have  cried  aloud  to 


262  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

the  fleeting  moment,  Venveile  dock  du  bist  so 
sclion  ! 

"Are  you  always  gay?"  I  asked  suddenly. 
"  How  happy  you  must  be  !  " 

"  The  days  would  sometimes  seem  very  long  if  I 
were  gloomy,"  she  answered  thoughtfully.  "  Yes, 
I  think  I  find  life  very  pleasant,  and  I  tell  it  so." 

"  How  can  you  '  tell  life '  anything  ?  "  I  en 
quired.  "  If  I  could  catch  my  life  and  talk  to  it, 
I  would  abuse  it  prodigiously,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  dare  say.  You  have  a  melancholy  temper. 
You  ought  to  live  out  of  doors,  dig  potatoes,  make 
hay,  shoot,  hunt,  tumble  into  ditches,  and  come 
home  muddy  and  hungry  for  dinner.  It  would  be 
much  better  for  you  than  moping  in  your  rook 
tower,  and  hating  everything." 

"  It  is  rather  lonely  down  there,"  I  murmured 
apologetically,  feeling  that  Miss  Lammas  was  quite 
right. 

"Then  marry,  and  quarrel  with  your  wife," 
she  laughed.  "  Anything  is  better  than  being 
alone." 

"I  am  a  very  peaceable  person.  I  never  quarrel 
with  anybody.  You  can  try  it.  You  will  find  it 
quite  impossible." 

"Will  you  let  me  try?"  she  asked,  still  smiling. 

"  By  all  means  —  especially  if  it  is  to  be  only  a 
preliminary  canter,"  I  answered  rashly. 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  263 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  she  enquired,  turning 
quickly  upon  me. 

"  Oh  —  nothing.  You  might  try  my  paces  with 
a  view  to  quarrelling  in  the  future.  I  cannot  im 
agine  how  you  are  going  to  do  it.  You  will  have 
to  resort  to  immediate  and  direct  abuse." 

"  No.  I  will  only  say  that  if  you  do  not  like 
your  life,  it  is  your  own  fault.  How  can  a  man  of 
your  age  talk  of  being  melancholy,  or  of  the  hollow- 
ness  of  existence  ?  Are  you  consumptive  ?  Are 
you  subject  to  hereditary  insanity  ?  Are  you  deaf, 
like  Aunt  Bluebell  ?  Are  you  poor,  like  —  lots  of 
people  ?  Have  you  been  crossed  in  love  ?  Have 
you  lost  the  world  for  a  woman,  or  any  particular 
woman  for  the  sake  of  the  world  ?  Are  you  feeble 
minded,  a  cripple,  an  outcast  ?  Are  you  —  repuls 
ively  ugly  ?  "  She  laughed  again.  "  Is  there  any 
reason  in  the  world  why  you  should  not  enjoy  all 
you  have  got  in  life  ? ' ' 

"  No.  There  is  no  reason  whatever,  except  that 
I  am  dreadfully  unlucky,  especially  in  small 
things." 

"  Then  try  big  things,  just  for  a  change,"  sug 
gested  Miss  Lammas.  "  Try  and  get  married,  for 
instance,  and  see  how  it  turns  out." 

"  If   it   turned   out   badly,  it  would   be   rather 


serious." 


"  Not  half  so  serious  as  it  is  to  abuse  everything 


264  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

unreasonably.  If  abuse  is  your  particular  talent, 
abuse  something  that  ought  to  be  abused.  Abuse 
the  Conservatives  —  or  the  Liberals  —  it  does  not 
matter  which,  since  they  are  always  abusing  each 
other.  Make  yourself  felt  by  other  people.  You 
will  like  it,  if  they  don't.  It  will  make  a  man  of 
you.  Fill  your  mouth  with  pebbles,  and  howl  at 
the  sea,  if  you  cannot  do  anything  else.  It  did 
Demosthenes  no  end  of  good,  you  know.  You 
will  have  the  satisfaction  of  imitating  a  great 


man." 


"  Really,  Miss  Lammas,  I  think  the  list  of  inno 
cent  exercises  you  propose  —  : 

"  Very  well  —  if  you  don't  care  for  that  sort  of 
thing,  care  for  some  other  sort  of  thing.  Care  for 
something,  or  hate  something.  Don't  be  idle. 
Life  is  short,  and  though  art  may  be  long,  plenty 
of  noise  answers  nearly  as  well." 

"  I  do  care  for  something  —  I  mean  somebody," 
I  said. 

"  A  woman  ?    Then  marry  her.     Don't  hesitate." 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  she  would  marry  me," 
I  replied.  "  I  have  never  asked  her." 

"  Then  ask  her  at  once,"  answered  Miss  Lammas. 
"  I  shall  die  happy  if  I  feel  I  have  persuaded  a 
melancholy  fellow-creature  to  rouse  himself  to 
action.  Ask  her,  by  all  means,  and  see  what  she 
says.  If  she  does  not  accept  you  at  once,  she  may 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  265 

take  you  the  next  time.  Meanwhile,  you  will  have 
entered  for  the  race.  If  you  lose,  there  are  the 
6  All-aged  Trial  Stakes/  and  the  '  Consolation 
Race.7" 

"  And  plenty  of  selling  races  into  the  bargain. 
Shall  I  take  you  at  your  word,  Miss  Lammas?" 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  she  answered. 

"  Since  you  yourself  advise    me,  I  will.      Miss 
Lammas,  will  you  do  me  the  honour  to  marry  me  ?" 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  the  blood  rushed  to 
my  head  and  my  sight  swam.  I  cannot  tell  why  I 
said  it.  It  would  be  useless  to  try  to  explain  the 
extraordinary  fascination  the  girl  exercised  over 
me,  or  the  still  more  extraordinary  feeling  of  inti 
macy  with  her  which  had  grown  in  me  during  that 
half-hour.  Lonely,  sad,  unlucky  as  I  had  been  all 
my  life,  I  was  certainly  not  timid,  nor  even  shy. 
But  to  propose  to  marry  a  woman  after  half  an 
hour's  acquaintance  was  a  piece  of  madness  of 
which  I  never  believed  myself  capable,  and  of  which 
I  should  never  be  capable  again,  could  I  be  placed 
in  the  same  situation.  It  was  as  though  my  whole 
being  had  been  changed  in  a  moment  by  magic  - 
by  the  white  magic  of  her  nature  brought  into  con 
tact  with  mine.  The  blood  sank  back  to  my  heart, 
and  a  moment  later  I  found  myself  staring  at  her 
with  anxious  eyes.  To  my  amazement  she  was  as 
calm  as  ever,  but  her  beautiful  mouth  smiled,  and 


266  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

there  was  a  mischievous  light  in  her  dark-brown 
eyes. 

"  Fairly  caught,"  she  answered.  "  For  an  in 
dividual  who  pretends  to  be  listless  and  sad  you  are 
not  lacking  in  humour.  I  had  really  not  the  least 
idea  what  you  were  going  to  say.  Wouldn't  it  be 
singularly  awkward  for  you  if  I  had  said  <  Yes  *  ? 
I  never  saw  anybody  begin  to  practise  so  sharply 
what  was  preached  to  him  —  with  so  very  little 
loss  of  time  !  " 

"  You  probably  never  met  a  man  who  had 
dreamed  of  you  for  seven  months  before  being 
introduced." 

"  No,  I  never  did,"  she  answered  gaily.  "It 
smacks  of  the  romantic.  Perhaps  you  are  a  roman 
tic  character  after  all.  I  should  think  you  were, 
if  I  believed  you.  Very  well ;  you  have  taken  my 
advice,  entered  for  a  Stranger's  Race  and  lost  it. 
Try  the  All-aged  Trial  Stakes.  You  have  another 
cuff,  and  a  pencil.  Propose  to  Aunt  Bluebell ;  she 
would  dance  with  astonishment,  and  she  might 
recover  her  hearing." 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  267 


CHAPTER   III 

THAT  was  how  I  first  asked  Margaret  Lammas 
to  be  my  wife,  and  I  will  agree  with  any  one  who 
says  I  behaved  very  foolishly.  But  I  have  not 
repented  of  it,  and  I  never  shall.  I  have  long  ago 
understood  that  I  was  out  of  my  mind  that  evening, 
but  I  think  my  temporary  insanity  on  that  occasion 
has  had  the  effect  of  making  me  a  saner  man  ever 
since.  Her  manner  turned  my  head,  for  it  was  so 
different  from  what  I  had  expected.  To  hear  this 
lovely  creature,  who,  in  my  imagination,  was  a 
heroine  of  romance,  if  not  of  tragedy,  talking  fa 
miliarly  and  laughing  readily  was  more  than  my 
equanimity  could  bear,  and  I  lost  my  head  as  well 
as  my  heart.  But  when  I  went  back  to  England 
in  the  spring,  I  went  to  make  certain  arrangements 
at  the  Castle — certain  changes  and  improvements 
which  would  be  absolutely  necessary.  I  had  won 
the  race  for  which  I  had  entered  myself  so  rashly, 
and  we  were  to  be  married  in  June. 

Whether  the  change  was  due  to  the  orders  I  had 
left  with  the  gardener  and  the  rest  of  the  servants, 
or  to  my  own  state  of  mind,  I  cannot  tell.  At  all 
events,  the  old  place  did  not  look  the  same  to  me 
when  I  opened  my  window  on  the  morning  after 
my  arrival.  There  were  the  grey  walls  below  me, 


268  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

and  the  grey  turrets  flanking  the  huge  building ; 
there  were  the  fountains,  the  marble  causeways, 
the  smooth  basins,  the  tall  box  hedges,  the  water- 
lilies  and  the  swans,  just  as  of  old.  But  there  was 
something  else  there,  too  —  something  in  the  air, 
in  the  water,  and  in  the  greenness  that  I  did  not 
recognise  —  a  light  over  everything  by  which 
everything  was  transfigured.  The  clock  in  the 
tower  struck  seven,  and  the  strokes  of  the  ancient 
bell  sounded  like  a  wedding  chime.  The  air  sang 
with  the  thrilling  treble  of  the  song-birds,  with  the 
silvery  music  of  the  plashing  water,  and  the  softer 
harmony  of  the  leaves  stirred  by  the  fresh  morning 
wind.  There  was  a  smell  of  new-mown  hay  from 
the  distant  meadows,  and  of  blooming  roses  from 
the  beds  below,  wafted  up  together  to  my  window. 
I  stood  in  the  pure  sunshine  and  drank  the  air  and 
all  the  sounds  and  the  odours  that  were  in  it ;  and 
I  looked  down  at  my  garden  and  said,  "  It  is  Para 
dise,  after  all.  I  think  the  men  of  old  were  right 
when  they  called  heaven  a  garden,  and  Eden  a  gar 
den  inhabited  by  one  man  and  one  woman,  the 
Earthly  Paradise. 

I  turned  away,  wondering  what  had  become 
of  the  gloomy  memories  I  had  always  associated 
with  my  home.  I  tried  to  recall  the  impression 
of  my  nurse's  horrible  prophecy  before  the  death 
of  my  parents  —  an  impression  which  hitherto 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  269 

had  been  vivid  enough.  I  tried  to  remember 
my  own  self,  my  dejection,  my  listlessness,  my 
bad  luck,  and  my  petty  disappointments.  I  en 
deavoured  to  force  myself  to  think  as  I  used 
to  think,  if  only  to  satisfy  myself  that  I  had 
not  lost  my  individuality.  But  I  succeeded  in 
none  of  these  efforts.  I  was  a  different  man,  a 
changed  being,  incapable  of  sorrow,  of  ill-luck, 
or  of  sadness.  My  life  had  been  a  dream,  not 
evil,  but  infinitely  gloomy  and  hopeless.  It  was 
now  a  reality,  full  of  hope,  gladness,  and  all 
manner  of  good.  My  home  had  been  like  a 
tomb;  to-day  it  was  Paradise.  My  heart  had 
been  as  though  it  had  not  existed;  to-day  it 
beat  with  strength  and  youth,  and  the  certainty 
of  realised  happiness.  I  revelled  in  the  beauty 
of  the  world,  and  called  loveliness  out  of  the 
future  to  enjoy  it  before  time  should  bring  it 
to  me,  as  a  traveller  in  the  plains  looks  up  to 
the  mountains,  and  already  tastes  the  cool  air 
through  the  dust  of  the  road. 

Here,  I  thought,  we  will  live  and  live  for  years. 
There  we  will  sit  by  the  fountain  towards  even 
ing  and  in  the  deep  moonlight.  Down  those 
paths  we  will  wander  together.  On  those 
benches  we  will  rest  and  talk.  Among  those  east 
ern  hills  we  will  ride  through  the  soft  twilight, 
and  in  the  old  house  we  will  tell  tales  on  winter 


270  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

nights,  when  the  logs  burn  high,  and  the  holly 
berries  are  red,  and  the  old  clock  tolls  out  the 
dying  year.  On  these  old  steps,  in  these  dark 
passages  and  stately  rooms,  there  will  one  day 
be  the  sound  of  little  pattering  feet,  and  laugh 
ing  child-voices  will  ring  up  to  the  vaults  of  the 
ancient  hall.  Those  tiny  footsteps  shall  not  be 
slow  and  sad  as  mine  were,  nor  shall  the  child 
ish  words  be  spoken  in  an  awed  whisper.  No 
gloomy  Welshwoman  shall  people  the  dusky  cor 
ners  with  weird  horrors,  nor  utter  horrid  proph 
ecies  of  death  and  ghastly  things.  All  shall 
be  young,  and  fresh,  and  joyful,  and  happy, 
and  we  will  turn  the  old  luck  again,  and  forget 
that  there  was  ever  any  sadness. 

So  I  thought,  as  I  looked  out  of  my  window 
that  morning  and  for  many  mornings  after  that, 
and  every  day  it  all  seemed  more  real  than  ever 
before,  and  much  nearer.  But  the  old  nurse 
looked  at  me  askance,  and  muttered  odd  sayings 
about  the  Woman  of  the  Water.  I  cared  little 
what  she  said,  for  I  was  far  too  happy. 

At  last  the  time  came  near  for  the  wedding. 
Lady  Bluebell  and  all  the  tribe  of  Bluebells,  as 
Margaret  called  them,  were  at  Bluebell  Grange, 
for  we  had  determined  to  be  married  in  the 
country,  and  to  come  straight  to  the  Castle 
afterwards.  We  cared  little  for  travelling,  and 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  271 

not  at  all  for  a  crowded  ceremony  at  St.  George's  in 
Hanover  Square,  with  all  the  tiresome  formalities 
afterwards.  I  used  to  ride  over  to  the  Grange  every 
day,  and  very  often  Margaret  would  come  with 
her  aunt  and  some  of  her  cousins  to  the  Castle. 
I  was  suspicious  of  my  own  taste,  and  was  only 
too  glad  to  let  her  have  her  way  about  the  alter 
ations  and  improvements  in  our  home. 

We  were  to  be  married  on  the  thirtieth  of 
July,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  twenty-eighth 
Margaret  drove  over  with  some  of  the  Bluebell 
party.  In  the  long  summer  twilight  we  all  went 
out  into  the  garden.  Naturally  enough,  Margaret 
and  I  were  left  to  ourselves,  and  we  wandered 
down  by  the  marble  basins. 

"  It  is  an  odd  coincidence,"  I  said ;  "  it  was  on 
this  very  night  last  year  that  I  first  saw  you." 

"  Considering  that  it  is  the  month  of  July," 
answered  Margaret,  with  a  laugh,  "  and  that  we 
have  been  here  almost  every  day,  I  don't  think 
the  coincidence  is  so  extraordinary,  after  all." 

"  No,  dear,"  said  I,  "  I  suppose  not.  I  don't 
know  why  it  struck  me.  We  shall  very  likely 
be  here  a  year  from  to-day,  and  a  year  from  that. 
The  odd  thing,  when  I  think  of  it,  is  that  you  should 
be  here  at  all.  But  my  luck  has  turned.  I  ought 
not  to  think  anything  odd  that  happens  now  that 
I  have  you.  It  is  all  sure  to  be  good." 


272  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  A  slight  change  in  your  ideas  since  that  re 
markable  performance  of  yours  in  Paris/'  said 
Margaret.  "Do  you  know,  I  thought  you  were 
the  most  extraordinary  man  I  had  ever  met." 

"  I  thought  you  were  the  most  charming  woman 
I  have  ever  seen.  I  naturally  did  not  want  to  lose 
any  time  in  frivolities.  I  took  you  at  your  word, 
I  followed  your  advice,  I  asked  you  to  marry  me, 
and  this  is  the  delightful  result  —  what's  the 
matter  ?  " 

Margaret  had  started  suddenly,  and  her  hand 
tightened  on  my  arm.  An  old  woman  was  coming 
up  the  path,  and  was  close  to  us  before  we  saw 
her,  for  the  moon  had  risen,  and  was  shining  full 
in  our  faces.  The  woman  turned  out  to  be  my 
old  nurse. 

"  It's  only  old  Judith,  dear  —  don't  be  fright 
ened,"  I  said.  Then  I  spoke  to  the  Welshwoman: 
"  What  are  you  about,  Judith  ?  Have  you  been 
feeding  the  Woman  of  the  Water?  " 

"  Ay  —  when  the  clock  strikes,  Willie  —  my 
lord,  I  mean,"  muttered  the  old  creature,  drawing 
aside  to  let  us  pass,  and  fixing  her  strange  eyes  on 
Margaret's  face. 

"  What  does  she  mean  ?  "  asked  Margaret,  when 
we  had  gone  by. 

"  Nothing,  darling.  The  old  thing  is  mildly 
crazy,  but  she  is  a  good  soul." 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  273 

We  went  on  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  and 
came  to  the  rustic  bridge  just  above  the  artificial 
grotto  through  which  the  water  ran  out  into  the 
park,  dark  and  swift  in  its  narrow  channel. 
We  stopped,  and  leaned  on  the  wooden  rail.  The 
moon  was  now  behind  us,  and  shone  full  upon  the 
long  vista  of  basins  and  on  the  huge  walls  and 
towers  of  tha  Castle  above. 

"  How  proud  you  ought  to  be  of  such  a  grand 
old  place  !  "  said  Margaret,  softly. 

"  It  is  yours  now,  darling,"  I  answered.  "  You 
have  as  good  a  right  to  love  it  as  I  -  -  but  I  only 
love  it  because  you  are  to  live  in  it,  dear." 

Her  hand  stole  out  and  lay  on  mine,  and  we 
were  both  silent.  Just  then  the  clock  began  to 
strike  far  off  in  the  tower.  I  counted  the  strokes 
—  eight  —  nine  —  ten  —  eleven  —  I  looked  at  my 
watch  —  twelve  —  thirteen  — I  laughed.  The  bell 
went  on  striking. 

"  The  old  clock  has  gone  crazy,  like  Judith,"  I 
exclaimed.  Still  it  went  on,  note  after  note  ring 
ing  out  monotonously  through  the  still  air.  We 
leaned  over  the  rail,  instinctively  looking  in  the 
direction  whence  the  sound  came.  On  and  on  it 
went.  I  counted  nearly  a  hundred,  out  of  sheer 
curiosity,  for  I  understood  that  something  had 
broken  and  that  the  thing  was  running  itself  down. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  crack  as  of  breaking  wood, 


274  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

a  cry  and  a  heavy  splash,  and  I  was  alone,  clinging 
to  the  broken  end  of  the  rail  of  the  rustic  bridge. 

I  do  not  think  I  hesitated  while  my  pulse  beat 
twice.  I  sprang  clear  of  the  bridge  into  the  black 
rushing  water,  dived  to  the  bottom,  came  up  again 
with  empty  hands,  turned  and  swam  downwards 
through  the  grotto  in  the  thick  darkness,  plunging 
and  diving  at  every  stroke,  striking  my  head  and 
hands  against  jagged  stones  and  sharp  corners, 
clutching  at  last  something  in  my  lingers,  and 
dragging  it  up  with  all  my  might.  I  spoke,  I  cried 
aloud,  but  there  was  no  answer.  I  was  alone  in 
the  pitchy  blackness  with  my  burden,  and  the 
house  was  five  hundred  yards  away.  Struggling 
still,  I  felt  the  ground  beneath  my  feet,  I  saw  a 
ray  of  moonlight  —  the  grotto  widened,  and  the 
deep  water  became  a  broad  and  shallow  brook  as  I 
stumbled  over  the  stones  and  at  last  laid  Margaret's 
body  on  the  bank  in  the  park  beyond. 

"  Ay,  Willie,  as  the  clock  struck ! "  said  the 
voice  of  Judith,  the  Welsh  nurse,  as  she  bent  down 
and  looked  at  the  white  face.  The  old  woman 
must  have  turned  back  and  followed  us,  seen  the 
accident,  and  slipped  out  by  the  lower  gate  of  the 
garden.  "  Ay,"  she  groaned,  "  you  have  fed 
the  Woman  of  the  Water  this  night,  Willie,  while 
the  clock  was  striking." 

I  scarcely  heard  her  as  I  knelt  beside  the  lifeless 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  275 

body  of  the  woman  I  loved,  chafing  the  wet  white 
temples,  and  gazing  wildly  into  the  wide-staring 
eyes.  I  remember  only  the  first  returning  look  of 
consciousness,  the  first  heaving  breath,  the  first 
movement  of  those  dear  hands  stretching  out 
towards  me. 

That  is  not  much  of  a  story,  you  say.  It  is  the 
story  of  my  life.  That  is  all.  It  does  not  pretend 
to  be  anything  else.  Old  Judith  says  my  luck 
turned  on  that  summer's  night,  when  I  was 
struggling  in  the  water  to  save  all  that  was  worth 
living  for.  A  month  later  there  was  a  stone  bridge 
above  the  grotto,  and  Margaret  and  I  stood  on  it, 
and  looked  up  at  the  moonlit  Castle,  as  we  had 
done  once  before,  and  as  we  have  done  many  times 
since.  For  all  those  things  happened  ten  years  ago 
last  summer,  and  this  is  the  tenth  Christmas  Eve 
we  have  spent  together  by  the  roaring  logs  in  the 
old  hall,  talking  of  old  times;  and  every  year  there 
are  more  old  times  to  talk  of.  There  are  curly- 
headed  boys,  too,  with  red-gold  hair  and  dark- 
brown  eyes  like  their  mother's,  and  a  little 
Margaret,  with  solemn  black  eyes  like  mine.  Why 
could  she  not  look  like  her  mother,  too,  as  well  as 
the  rest  of  them  ? 

The  world  is  very  bright  at  this  glorious  Christ 
mas  time,  and  perhaps  there  is  little  use  in  calling 


276  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

up  the  sadness  of  long  ago,  unless  it  be  to  make 
the  jolly  firelight  seem  more  cheerful,  the  good 
wife's  face  look  gladder,  and  to  give  the  children's 
laughter  a  merrier  ring,  by  contrast  with  all  that 
is  gone.  Perhaps,  too,  some  sad-faced,  listless, 
melancholy  youth,  who  feels  that  the  world  is  very 
hollow,  and  that  life  is  like  a  perpetual  funeral 
service,  just  as  I  used  to  feel  myself,  may  take 
courage  from  my  example,  and  having  found  the 
woman  of  his  heart,  ask  her  to  marry  him  after 
half  an  hour's  acquaintance.  But,  on  the  whole, 
I  would  not  advise  any  man  to  marry,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  no  man  will  ever  find  a  wife 
like  mine,  and  being  obliged  to  go  further,  he  will 
necessarily  fare  worse.  My  wife  has  done  miracles, 
but  I  will  not  assert  that  any  other  woman  is  able 
to  follow  her  example. 

Margaret  always  said  that  the  old  place  was 
beautiful,  and  that  I  ought  to  be  proud  of  it.  I 
dare  say  she  is  right.  She  has  even  more  imagina 
tion  than  I.  But  I  have  a  good  answer  and  a  plain 
one,  which  is  this  —  that  all  the  beauty  of  the 
Castle  comes  from  her.  She  has  breathed  upon  it 
all,  as  the  children  blow  upon  the  cold  glass  win 
dow-panes  in  winter ;  and  as  their  warm  breath 
crystallises  into  landscapes  from  fairyland,  full  of 
exquisite  shapes  and  traceries  upon  the  blank  sur 
face,  so  her  spirit  has  transformed  every  grey  stone 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  PARADISE  277 

of  the  old  towers,  every  ancient  tree  and  hedge  in 
the  gardens,  every  thought  in  my  once  melancholy 
self.  All  that  was  old  is  young,  and  all  that  was 
sad  is  glad,  and  I  am  the  gladdest  of  all.  What 
ever  heaven  may  be,  there  is  no  earthly  paradise 
without  woman,  nor  is  there  anywhere  a  place  so 
desolate,  so  dreary,  so  unutterably  miserable  that  a 
woman  cannot  make  it  seem  heaven  to  the  man 
she  loves,  and  who  loves  her. 

I  hear  certain  cynics  laugh,  and  cry  that  all 
that  has  been  said  before.  Do  not  laugh,  my  good 
cynic.  You  are  too  small  a  man  to  laugh  at  such 
a  great  thing  as  love.  Prayers  have  been  said 
before  now  by  many,  and  perhaps  you  say  yours, 
too.  I  do  not  think  they  lose  anything  by  being 
repeated,  nor  you  by  repeating  them.  You  say 
that  the  world  is  bitter,  and  full  of  the  Waters  of 
Bitterness.  Love,  and  so  live  that  you  may  be 
loved  —  the  world  will  turn  sweet  for  you,  and 
you  shall  rest  like  me  by  the  Waters  of  Paradise. 


THE   DOLL'S   GHOST 


THE   DOLL'S   GHOST 

IT  was  a  terrible  accident,  and  for  one  moment 
the  splendid  machinery  of  Cranston  House  got  out 
of  gear  and  stood  still.  The  butler  emerged  from 
the  retirement  in  which  he  spent  his  elegant  lei 
sure,  two  grooms  of  the  chambers  appeared  simul 
taneously  from  opposite  directions,  there  were 
actually  housemaids  on  the  grand  staircase,  and 
those  who  remember  the  facts  most  exactly  assert 
that  Mrs.  Pringle  herself  positively  stood  upon  the 
landing.  Mrs.  Pringle  was  the  housekeeper.  As 
for  the  head  nurse,  the  under  nurse,  and  the  nur 
sery  maid,  their  feelings  cannot  be  described.  The 
head  nurse  laid  one  hand  upon  the  polished  marble 
balustrade  and  stared  stupidly  before  her,  the  un 
der  nurse  stood  rigid  and  pale,  leaning  against  the 
polished  marble  wall,  and  the  nursery-maid  col 
lapsed  and  sat  down  upon  the  polished  marble  step, 
just  beyond  the  limits  of  the  velvet  carpet,  and 
frankly  burst  into  tears. 

The  Lady  Gwendolen  Lancaster-Douglas-Scroop, 
youngest  daughter  of  the  ninth  Duke  of  Cranston, 
and  aged  six  years  and  three  months,  picked  her 
self  up  quite  alone,  and  sat  down  on  the  third  step 

281 


282  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

from  the  foot  of  the  grand  staircase  in  Cranston 
House. 

"  Oh  !  "  ejaculated  the  butler,  and  he  disappeared 
again. 

"  Ah  !  "  responded  the  grooms  of  the  chambers, 
as  they  also  went  away. 

"  It's  only  that  doll,"  Mrs.  Pringle  was  distinctly 
heard  to  say,  in  a  tone  of  contempt. 

The  under  nurse  heard  her  say  it.  Then  the 
three  nurses  gathered  round  Lady  Gwendolen  and 
patted  her,  and  gave  her  unhealthy  things  out  of 
their  pockets,  and  hurried  her  out  of  Cranston 
House  as  fast  as  they  could,  lest  it  should  be  found 
out  upstairs  that  they  had  allowed  the  Lady  Gwen 
dolen  Lancaster-Douglas-Scroop  to  tumble  down 
the  grand  staircase  with  her  doll  in  her  arms.  And 
as  the  doll  was  badly  broken,  the  nursery-maid 
carried  it,  with  the  pieces,  wrapped  up  in  Lady 
Gwendolen's  little  cloak.  It  was  not  far  to  Hyde 
Park,  and  when  they  had  reached  a  quiet  place 
they  took  means  to  find  out  that  Lady  Gwendolen 
had  no  bruises.  For  the  carpet  was  very  thick 
and  soft,  and  there  was  thick  stuff  under  it  to 
make  it  softer. 

Lady  Gwendolen  Douglas-Scroop  sometimes 
yelled,  but  she  never  cried.  It  was  because  sha 
had  yelled  that  the  nurse  had  allowed  her  to  go 
downstairs  alone  with  Nina,  the  doll,  under  one 


THE  DOLL'S  GHOST  283 

arm,  while  she  steadied  herself  with  her  other 
hand  on  the  balustrade,  and  trod  upon  the  polished 
marble  steps  beyond  the  edge  of  the  carpet.  So 
she  had  fallen,  and  Nina  had  come  to  grief. 

When  the  nurses  were  quite  sure  that  she  was 
not  hurt,  they  unwrapped  the  doll  and  looked 
at  her  in  her  turn.  She  had  been  a  very  beau 
tiful  doll,  very  large,  and  fair,  and  healthy,  with 
real  yellow  hair,  and  eyelids  that  would  open 
and  shut  over  very  grown-up  dark  eyes.  More 
over,  when  you  moved  her  right  arm  up  and 
down  she  said  "  Pa-pa,"  and  when  you  moved 
the  left  she  said  "  Ma-ma,"  very  distinctly. 

"  I  heard  her  say  ( Pa, '  when  she  fell,"  said 
the  under  nurse,  who  heard  everything.  "  But 
she  ought  to  have  said  '  Pa-pa/  ' 

"  That's  because  her  arm  went  up  when  she 
hit  the  step,"  said  the  head  nurse.  "  She'll  say 
the  other  '  Pa '  when  I  put  it  down  again." 

"  Pa,"  said  Nina,  as  her  right  arm  was  pushed 
down,  and  speaking  through  her  broken  face.  It 
was  cracked  right  across,  from  the  upper  corner 
of  the  forehead,  with  a  hideous  gash,  through  the 
nose  and  down  to  the  little  frilled  collar  of  the 
pale  green  silk  Mother  Hubbard  frock,  and  two 
little  three-cornered  pieces  of  porcelain  had  fallen  out. 

"  I'm  sure  it's  a  wonder  she  can  speak  at  all, 
being  all  smashed,"  said  the  under  nurse. 


284  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

"  You'll  have  to  take  her  to  Mr.  Puckler,"  said 
her  superior.  "  it's  not  far,  and  you'd  better  go 
at  once.'* 

Lady  Gwendolen  was  occupied  in  digging  a 
hole  in  the  ground  with  a  little  spade,  and  paid 
no  attention  to  the  nurses. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  enquired  the  nursery 
maid,  looking  on. 

"Nina's  dead,  and  I'm  diggin'  her  a  grave," 
replied  her  ladyship  thoughtfully. 

"Oh,  she'll  come  to  life  again  all  right,"  said 
the  nursery-maid. 

The  under  nurse  wrapped  Nina  up  again  and 
departed.  Fortunately  a  kind  soldier,  with  very 
long  legs  and  a  very  small  cap,  happened  to  be 
there  ;  and  as  he  had  nothing  to  do,  he  offered 
to  see  the  under  nurse  safely  to  Mr.  Puckler' s 
and  back. 

Mr.  Bernard  Puckler  and  his  little  daughter 
lived  in  a  little  house  in  a  little  alley,  which 
led  out  off  a  quiet  little  street  not  very  far  from 
Belgrave  Square.  He  was  the  great  doll  doctor, 
and  his  extensive  practice  lay  in  the  most  aristo 
cratic  quarter.  He  mended  dolls  of  all  sizes 
and  ages,  boy  dolls  and  girl  dolls,  baby  dolls 
in  long  clothes,  and  grown-up  dolls  in  fashion 
able  gowns,  talking  dolls  and  dumb  dolls,  those 


THE  DOLL'S  GHOST  285 

that  shut  their  eyes  when  they  lay  down,  and 
those  whose  eyes  had  to  be  shut  for  them  by 
means  of  a  mysterious  wire.  His  daughter  Else 
was  only  just  over  twelve  years  old,  but  she  was 
already  very  clever  at  mending  dolls'  clothes,  and 
at  doing  their  hah*,  which  is  harder  than  you 
might  think,  though  the  dolls  sit  quite  still  while 
it  is  being  done. 

Mr.  Puckler  had  originally  been  a  German,  but 
he  had  dissolved  his  nationality  in  the  ocean  of 
London  many  years  ago,  like  a  great  many  for 
eigners.  He  still  had  one  or  two  German  friends, 
however,  who  came  on  Saturday  evenings,  and 
smoked  with  him  and  played  picquet  or  "  skat " 
with  him  for  farthing  points,  and  called  him  "  Herr 
Doctor,"  which  seemed  to  please  Mr.  Puckler  very 
much. 

He  looked  older  than  he  was,  for  his  beard 
was  rather  long  and  ragged,  his  hair  was  griz 
zled  and  thin,  and  he  wore  horn-rimmed  spec 
tacles.  As  for  Else,  she  was  a  thin,  pale  child, 
very  quiet  and  neat,  with  dark  eyes  and  brown 
hair  that  was  plaited  down  her  back  and  tied 
with  a  bit  of  black  ribbon.  She  mended  the  dolls' 
clothes  and  took  the  dolls  back  to  their  homes 
when  they  were  quite  strong  again. 

The  house  was  a  little  one,  but  too  big  for 
the  two  people  who  lived  in  it.  There  was  a 


286  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

small  sitting-room  on  the  street,  and  the  work 
shop  was  at  the  back,  and  there  were  three  rooms 
upstairs.  But  the  father  and  daughter  lived  most 
of  their  time  in  the  workshop,  because  they  were 
generally  at  work,  even  in  the  evenings. 

Mr.  Puckler  laid  Nina  on  the  table  and  looked 
at  her  a  long  time,  till  the  tears  began  to  fill  his 
eyes  behind  the  horn-rimmed  spectacles.  He  was 
a  very  susceptible  man,  and  he  often  fell  in  love 
with  the  dolls  he  mended,  and  found  it  hard  to 
part  with  them  when  they  had  smiled  at  him 
for  a  few  days.  They  were  real  little  people 
to  him,  with  characters  and  thoughts  and  feel 
ings  of  their  own,  and  he  was  very  tender  with 
them  all.  But  some  attracted  him  especially  from 
the  first,  and  when  they  were  brought  to  him 
maimed  and  injured,  their  state  seemed  so  piti 
ful  to  him  that  the  tears  came  easily.  You  must 
remember  that  he  had  lived  among  dolls  during  a 
great  part  of  his  life,  and  understood  them. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  they  feel  nothing  ? " 
he  went  on  to  say  to  Else.  "  You  must  be  gentle 
with  them.  It  costs  nothing  to  be  kind  to  the 
little  beings,  and  perhaps  it  makes  a  difference 
to  them." 

And  Else  understood  him,  because  she  was  a 
child,  and  she  knew  that  she  was  more  to  him 
than  all  the  dolls. 


THE  DOLL'S  GHOST  287 

He  fell  in  love  with  Nina  at  first  sight,  perhaps 
because  her  beautiful  brown  glass  eyes  were  some 
thing  like  Else's  own,  and  he  loved  Else  first  and 
best,  with  all  his  heart.  And,  besides,  it  was  a  very 
sorrowful  case.  Nina  had  evidently  not  been  long 
in  the  world,  for  her  complexion  was  perfect,  her 
hair  was  smooth  where  it  should  be  smooth,  and 
curly  where  it  should  be  curly,  and  her  silk  clothes 
were  perfectly  new.  But  across  her  face  was  that 
frightful  gash,  like  a  sabre-cut,  deep  and  shadowy 
within,  but  clean  and  sharp  at  the  edges.  When 
he  tenderly  pressed  her  head  to  close  the  gaping 
wound,  the  edges  made  a  fine  grating  sound,  that 
was  painful  to  hear,  and  the  lids  of  the  dark  eyes 
quivered  and  trembled  as  though  Nina  were  suffer 
ing  dreadfully. 

"Poor  Nina!"  he  exclaimed  sorrowfully.  "But 
I  shall  not  hurt  you  much,  though  you  will  take  a 
long  time  to  get  strong." 

He  always  asked  the  names  of  the  broken  dolls 
when  they  were  brought  to  him,  and  sometimes  the 
people  knew  what  the  children  called  them,  and  told 
him.  He  liked  "  Nina  "  for  a  name.  Altogether 
and  in  every  way  she  pleased  him  more  than  any 
doll  he  had  seen  for  many  years,  and  he  felt  drawn 
to  her,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  make  her  per 
fectly  strong  and  sound,  no  matter  how  much 
labour  it  might  cost  him. 


288  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Mr.  Puckler  worked  patiently  a  little  at  a  time, 
and  Else  watched  him.  She  could  do  nothing  for 
poor  Nina,  whose  clothes  needed  no  mending. 
The  longer  the  doll  doctor  worked,  the  more  fond 
he  became  of  the  yellow  hair  and  the  beautiful 
brown  glass  eyes.  He  sometimes  forgot  all  the 
other  dolls  that  were  waiting  to  be  mended,  lying 
side  by  side  on  a  shelf,  and  sat  for  an  hour  gazing 
at  Nina's  face,  while  he  racked  his  ingenuity  for 
some  new  invention  by  which  to  hide  even  the 
smallest  trace  of  the  terrible  accident. 

She  was  wonderfully  mended.  Even  he  was 
obliged  to  admit  that ;  but  the  scar  was  still  visible 
to  his  keen  eyes,  a  very  fine  line  right  across  the 
face,  downwards  from  right  to  left.  Yet  all  the 
conditions  had  been  most  favourable  for  a  cure, 
since  the  cement  had  set  quite  hard  at  the  first 
attempt  and  the  weather  had  been  fine  and  dry, 
which  makes  a  great  difference  in  a  dolls'  hospital. 

At  last  he  knew  that  he  could  do  no  more,  and 
the  under  nurse  had  already  come  twice  to  see 
whether  the  job  was  finished,  as  she  coarsely  ex 
pressed  it. 

"  Nina  is  not  quite  strong  yet,"  Mr.  Puckler  had 
answered  each  time,  for  he  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  to  face  the  parting. 

And  now  he  sat  before  the  square  deal  table  at 
which  he  worked,  and  Nina  lay  before  him  for  the 


THE  DOLL'S  GHOST  289 

last  time  with  a  big  brown  paper  box  beside  her. 
It  stood  there  like  her  colfin,  waiting  for  her,  he 
thought.  He  must  put  her  into  it,  and  lay  tissue 
paper  over  her  dear  face,  and  then  put  on  the  lid, 
and  at  the  thought  of  tying  the  string  his  sight 
was  dim  with  tears  again.  He  was  never  to  look 
into  the  glassy  depths  of  the  beautiful  brown  eyes 
any  more,  nor  to  hear  the  little  wooden  voice  say 
"Pa-pa"  and  "  Ma-ma."  It  was  a  very  painful 
moment. 

In  the  vain  hope  of  gaining  time  before  the 
separation,  he  took  up  the  little  sticky  bottles  of 
cement  and  glue  and  gum  and  colour,  looking  at 
each  one  in  turn,  and  then  at  Nina's  face.  And 
all  his  small  tools  lay  there,  neatly  arranged  in  a 
row,  but  he  knew  that  he  could  not  use  them 
again  for  Nina.  She  was  quite  strong  at  last,  and 
in  a  country  where  there  should  be  no  cruel  chil 
dren  to  hurt  her  she  might  live  a  hundred  years, 
with  only  that  almost  imperceptible  line  across  her 
face  to  tell  of  the  fearful  thing  that  had  befallen 
her  on  the  marble  steps  of  Cranston  House. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Puckler's  heart  was  quite  full, 
and  he  rose  abruptly  from  his  seat  and  turned 
away. 

"  Else,"  he  said  unsteadily,  "  you  must  do  it  for 
me.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  her  go  into  the  box." 

So  he  went  and  stood  at  the  window  with  his 


290  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

back  turned,  while  Else  did  what  he  had  not  the 
heart  to  do. 

"  Is  it  done  ? "  he  asked,  not  turning  round. 
"  Then  take  her  away,  my  dear.  Put  on  your 
hat,  and  take  her  to  Cranston  House  quickly,  and 
when  you  are  gone  I  will  turn  round." 

Else  was  used  to  her  father's  queer  ways  with 
the  dolls,  and  though  she  had  never  seen  him  so 
much  moved  by  a  parting,  she  was  not  much  sur 
prised. 

"  Come  back  quickly,"  he  said,  when  he  heard 
her  hand  on  the  latch.  "  It  is  growing  late,  and 
I  should  not  send  you  at  this  hour.  But  I  cannot 
bear  to  look  forward  to  it  any  more." 

When  Else  was  gone,  he  left  the  window  and 
sat  down  in  his  place  before  the  table  again,  to 
wait  for  the  child  to  come  back.  He  touched  the 
place  where  Nina  had  lain,  very  gently,  and  he 
recalled  the  softly  tinted  pink  face,  and  the  glass 
eyes,  and  the  ringlets  of  yellow  hair,  till  he  could 
almost  see  them. 

The  evenings  were  long,  for  it  was  late  in  the 
spring.  But  it  began  to  grow  dark  soon,  and  Mr. 
Puckler  wondered  why  Else  did  not  come  back. 
She  had  been  gone  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  that 
was  much  longer  than  he  had  expected,  for  it 
was  barely  half  a  mile  from  Belgrave  Square  to 
Cranston  House.  He  reflected  that  the  child 


THE  DOLL'S  GHOST  291 

might  have  been  kept  waiting,  but  as  the  twi 
light  deepened  he  grew  anxious,  and  walked  up 
and  down  in  the  dim  workshop,  no  longer  think 
ing  of  Nina,  but  of  Else,  his  own  living  child, 
whom  he  loved. 

An  undefinable,  disquieting  sensation  came  upon 
him  by  fine  degrees,  a  chilliness  and  a  faint  stir 
ring  of  his  thin  hair,  joined  with  a  wish  to  be  in 
any  company  rather  than  to  be  alone  much  longer. 
It  was  the  beginning  of  fear. 

He  told  himself  in  strong  German-English  that 
he  was  a  foolish  old  man,  and  he  began  to  feel 
about  for  the  matches  in  the  dusk.  He  knew  just 
where  they  should  be,  for  he  always  kept  them  in 
the  same  place,  close  to  the  little  tin  box  that  held 
bits  of  sealing-wax  of  various  colours,  for  some 
kinds  of  mending.  But  somehow  he  could  not  find 
the  matches  in  the  gloom. 

Something  had  happened  to  Else,  he  was  sure, 
and  as  his  fear  increased,  he  felt  as  though  it 
might  be  allayed  if  he  could  get  a  light  and  see 
what  time  it  was.  Then  he  called  himself  a  fool 
ish  old  man  again,  and  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice  startled  him  in  the  dark.  He  could  not 
find  the  matches. 

The  window  was  grey  still ;  he  might  see  what 
time  it  was  if  he  went  close  to  it,  and  he  could  go 
and  get  matches  out  of  the  cupboard  afterwards. 


292  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

He  stood  back  from  the  table,  to  get  out  of  the 
way  of  the  chair,  and  began  to  cross  the  board 
floor. 

Something  was  following  him  in  the  dark. 
There  was  a  small  pattering,  as  of  tiny  feet  upon 
the  boards.  He  stopped  and  listened,  and  the 
roots  of  his  hair  tingled.  It  was  nothing,  and 
he  was  a  foolish  old  man.  He  made  two  steps 
more,  and  he  was  sure  that  he  heard  the  little 
pattering  again.  He  turned  his  back  to  the  win 
dow,  leaning  against  the  sash  so  that  the  panes 
began  to  crack,  and  he  faced  the  dark.  Every 
thing  was  quite  still,  and  it  smelt  of  paste  and 
cement  and  wood-filings  as  usual. 

"  Is  that  you,  Else  ?  "  he  asked,  and  he  was  sur 
prised  by  the  fear  in  his  voice. 

There  was  no  answer  in  the  room,  and  he  held 
up  his  watch  and  tried  to  make  out  what  time  it 
was  by  the  grey  dusk  that  was  just  not  darkness. 
So  far  as  he  could  see,  it  was  within  two  or  three 
minutes  of  ten  o'clock.  He  had  been  a  long  time 
alone.  He  was  shocked,  and  frightened  for  Else, 
out  in  London,  so  late,  and  he  almost  ran  across 
the  room  to  the  door.  As  he  fumbled  for  the 
latch,  he  distinctly  heard  the  running  of  the  little 
feet  after  him. 

"  Mice  !  "  he  exclaimed  feebly,  just  as  he  got  the 
door  open. 


THE  DOLL'S  GHOST  293 

He  shut  it  quickly  behind  him,  and  felt  as 
though  some  cold  thing  had  settled  on  his  back  and 
were  writhing  upon  him.  The  passage  was  quite 
dark,  but  he  found  his  hat  and  v,  as  out  in  the  alley 
in  a  moment,  breathing  more  freely,  and  surprised 
to  find  how  much  light  there  still  was  in  the  open 
air.  He  could  see  the  pavement  clearly  und^r  his 
feet,  and  far  off  in  the  street  to  which  the  alley  led 
he  could  hear  the  laughter  and  calls  of  children, 
playing  some  game  out  of  doors.  He  wondered 
how  he  could  have  been  so  nervous,  and  for  an  in 
stant  he  thought  of  going  back  into  the  house  to 
wait  quietly  for  Else.  But  instantly  he  felt  that 
nervous  fright  of  something  stealing  over  him  again. 
In  any  case  it  was  better  to  walk  up  to  Cranston 
House  and  ask  the  servants  about  the  child.  One 
of  the  women  had  perhaps  taken  a  fancy  to  her, 
and  was  even  now  giving  her  tea  and  cake. 

He  walked  quickly  to  Belgrave  Square,  and  then 
up  the  broad  streets,  listening  as  he  went,  whenever 
there  was  no  other  sound,  for  the  tiny  footsteps. 
But  he  heard  nothing,  and  was  laughing  at  himself 
when  he  rang  the  servants'  bell  at  the  big  house. 
Of  course,  the  child  must  be  there. 

The  person  who  opened  the  door  was  quite  an 
inferior  person,  for  it  was  a  back  door,  but  affected 
the  manners  of  the  front,  and  stared  at  Mr.  Puckler 
superciliously  under  the  strong  light. 


294  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

No  little  girl  had  been  seen,  and  he  knew 
"  nothing  about  no  dolls." 

"  She  is  my  little  girl,  said  Mr.  Puckler  tremu 
lously,  for  all  his  anxiety  was  returning  tenfold, 
"  and  I  am  afraid  something  has  happened." 

The  inferior  person  said  rudely  that  "  nothing 
couH  have  happened  to  her  in  that  house,  because 
she  had  not  been  there,  which  was  a  jolly  good 
reason  why;"  and  Mr.  Puckler  was  obliged  to  admit 
that  the  man  ought  to  know,  as  it  was  his  business 
to  keep  the  door  and  let  people  in.  He  wished  to 
be  allowed  to  speak  to  the  under  nurse,  who  knew 
him  ;  but  the  man  was  ruder  than  ever,  and  finally 
shut  the  door  in  his  face. 

When  the  doll  doctor  was  alone  in  the  street,  he 
steadied  himself  by  the  railing,  for  he  felt  as  though 
he  were  breaking  in  two,  just  as  some  dolls  break, 
in  the  middle  of  the  backbone. 

Presently  he  knew  that  he  must  be  doing  some 
thing  to  find  Else,  and  that  gave  him  strength.  He 
began  to  walk  as  quickly  as  he  could  through  the 
streets,  following  e^rery  highway  rnd  byway  which 
his  little  girl  might  have  taken  on  her  errand.  He 
also  asked  several  policemen  in  vain  if  they  had 
seen  her,  and  most  of  them  answered  him  kindly,  for 
they  saw  that  he  was  a  sober  man  and  in  his  right 
senses,  and  some  of  them  had  little  girls  of  their  own. 

It  was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  he  went 


THE  DOLL'S  GHOST  295 

up  to  his  own  door  again,  worn  out  and  hopeless 
and  broken-hearted.  As  he  turned  the  key  in  the 
lock,  his  heart  stood  still,  for  he  knew  that  he  was 
awake  and  not  dreaming,  and  that  he  really  heard 
those  tiny  footsteps  pattering  to  meet  him  inside 
the  house  along  the  passage. 

But  he  was  too  unhappy  to  be  much  frightened 
any  more,  and  his  heart  went  on  again  with  a  dull 
regular  pain,  that  found  its  way  all  through  him 
with  every  pulse.  So  he  went  in,  and  hung  up  his 
hat  in  the  dark,  and  found  the  matches  in  the  cup 
board  and  the  candlestick  in  its  place  in  the  corner. 

Mr.  Puckler  was  so  much  overcome  and  so  com 
pletely  worn  out  that  he  sat  down  in  his  chair  be 
fore  the  work-table  and  almost  fainted,  as  his  face 
dropped  forward  upon  his  folded  hands.  Beside 
him  the  solitary  candle  burned  steadily  with  a  low 
flame  in  the  still  warm  air. 

"Else!  Else!"  he  moaned  against  his  yellow 
knuckles.  And  that  was  all  he  could  say,  and  it 
was  no  relief  to  him.  On  the  contrary,  the  very 
sound  of  the  name  was  a  new  and  sharp  pain  that 
pierced  his  ears  and  his  head  and  his  very  soul. 
For  every  time  he  repeated  the  name  it  meant  that 
little  Else  was  dead,  somewhere  out  in  the  streets 
of  London  in  the  dark. 

He  was  so  terribly  hurt  that  he  did  not  even  feel 
something  pulling  gently  at  the  skirt  of  his  old 


296  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

coat,  so  gently  that  it  was  like  the  nibbling  of  a 
tiny  mouse.  He  might  have  thought  that  it  was 
really  a  mouse  if  he  had  noticed  it. 

"  Else !  Else ! "  he  groaned  right  against  his  hands. 

Then  a  cool  breath  stirred  his  thin  hair,  and  the 
low  flame  of  the  one  candle  dropped  down  almost 
to  a  mere  spark,  not  flickering  as  though  a  draught 
were  going  to  blow  it  out,  but  just  dropping  down 
as  if  it  were  tired  out.  Mr.  Puckler  felt  his  hands 
stiffening  with  fright  under  his  face;  and  there  was 
a  faint  rustling  sound,  like  some  small  silk  thing 
blown  in  a  gentle  breeze.  He  sat  up  straight,  stark 
and  scared,  and  a  small  wooden  voice  spoke  in  the 
stillness. 

"Pa-pa,"  it  said,  with  a  break  between  the  syl 
lables. 

Mr.  Puckler  stood  up  in  a  single  jump,  and 
his  chair  fell  over  backwards  with  a  smashing 
noise  upon  the  wooden  floor.  The  candle  had 
almost  gone  out. 

It  was  Nina's  doll  voice  that  had  spoken,  and 
he  should  have  known  it  among  the  voices  of  a 
hundred  other  dolls.  And  yet  there  was  something 
more  in  it,  a  little  human  ring,  with  a  pitiful  cry 
and  a  call  for  help,  and  the  wail  of  a  hurt  child. 
Mr.  Puckler  stood  up,  stark  and  stiff,  and  tried  to 
look  round,  but  at  first  he  could  not,  for  he  seemed 
to  be  frozen  from  head  to  foot. 


THE  DOLL'S  GHOST  297 

Then  he  made  a  great  effort,  and  he  raised  one 
hand  to  each  of  his  temples,  and  pressed  his  own 
head  round  as  he  would  have  turned  a  doll's.  The 
candle  was  burning  so  low  that  it  might  as  well 
have  been  out  altogether,  for  any  light  it  gave,  and 
the  room  seemed  quite  dark  at  first.  Then  he  saw 
something.  He  would  not  have  believed  that  he 
could  be  more  frightened  than  he  had  been  just 
before  that.  But  he  was,  and  his  knees  shook,  for 
he  saw  the  doll  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
shining  with  a  faint  and  ghostly  radiance,  her 
beautiful  glassy  brown  eyes  fixed  on  his.  And 
across  her  face  the  very  thin  line  of  the  break  he 
had  mended  shone  as  though  it  were  drawn  in 
light  with  a  fine  point  of  white  flame. 

Yet  there  was  something  more  in  the  eyes,  too ; 
there  was  something  human,  like  Else's  own,  but 
as  if  only  the  doll  saw  him  through  them,  and  not 
Else.  And  there  was  enough  of  Else  to  bring  back 
all  his  pain  and  to  make  him  forget  his  fear. 

"  Else  !  my  little  Else  !  "  he  cried  aloud. 

The  small  ghost  moved,  and  its  doll-arm  slowly 
rose  and  fell  with  a  stiff,  mechanical  motion. 

"  Pa-pa,"  it  said. 

It  seemed  this  time  that  there  was  even  more  of 
Else's  tone  echoing  somewhere  between  the  wooden 
notes  that  reached  his  ears  so  distinctly,  and  yet  so 
far  away.  Else  was  calling  him,  he  was  sure. 


298  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

His  face  was  perfectly  white  in  the  gloom,  but 
his  knees  did  not  shake  any  more,  and  he  felt  that 
he  was  less  frightened. 

"  Yes,  child  !  But  where  ?  Where  ?  "  he 
asked.  "Where  are  you,  Else?" 

"  Pa-pa  !  " 

The  syllables  died  away  in  the  quiet  room. 
There  was  a  low  rustling  of  silk,  the  glassy  brown 
eyes  turned  slowly  away,  and  Mr.  Puckler  heard 
the  pitter-patter  of  the  small  feet  in  the  bronze 
kid  slippers  as  the  figure  ran  straight  to  the  door. 
Then  the  candle  burned  high  again,  the  room  was 
full  of  light,  and  he  was  alone. 

Mr.  Puckler  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes  and 
looked  about  him.  He  could  see  everything  quite 
clearly,  and  he  felt  that  he  must  have  been  dream 
ing,  though  he  was  standing  instead  of  sitting 
down,  as  he  should  have  been  if  he  had  just  waked 
up.  The  candle  burned  brightly  now.  There  were 
the  dolls  to  be  mended,  lying  in  a  row  with  their 
toes  up.  The  third  one  had  lost  her  right  shoe, 
and  Else  was  making  one.  He  knew  that,  and  he 
was  certainly  not  dreaming  now.  He  had  not  been 
dreaming  when  he  had  come  in  from  his  fruitless 
search  and  had  heard  the  doll's  footsteps  running  to 
the  door.  He  had  not  fallen  asleep  in  his  chair.  How 
could  he  possibly  have  fallen  asleep  when  his  heart 
was  breaking  ?  He  had  been  awake  all  the  time. 


THE  DOLL'S  GHOST  299 

He  steadied  himself,  set  the  fallen  chair  upon 
its  legs,  and  said  to  himself  again  very  emphati 
cally  that  he  was  a  foolish  old  man.  He  ought  to 
be  out  in  the  streets  looking  for  his  child,  asking 
questions,  and  enquiring  at  the  police  stations, 
where  all  accidents  were  reported  as  soon  as  they 
were  known,  or  at  the  hospitals. 

«  Pa-pa!" 

The  longing,  wailing,  pitiful  little  wooden  cry 
rang  from  the  passage,  outside  the  door,  and  Mr. 
Puckler  stood  for  an  instant  with  white  face, 
transfixed  and  rooted  tc  the  spot.  A  moment 
later  his  hand  was  on  the  latch.  Then  he  was 
in  the  passage,  with  the  light  streaming  from  the 
open  door  behind  him. 

Quite  at  the  other  end  he  saw  the  little  phantom 
shining  clearly  in  the  shadow,  and  the  right  hand 
seemed  to  beckon  to  him  as  the  arm  rose  and  fell 
once  more.  He  knew  all  at  once  that  it  had  not 
come  to  frighten  him  but  to  lead  him,  and  when  it 
disappeared,  and  he  walked  boldly  towards  the 
door,  he  knew  that  it  was  in  the  street  outside, 
waiting  for  him.  He  forgot  that  he  was  tired  and 
had  eaten  no  supper,  and  had  walked  many  miles, 
for  a  sudden  hope  ran  through  and  through  him, 
like  a  golden  stream  of  life. 

And  sure  enough,  at  the  corner  of  the  alley,  and 
at  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  out  in  Belgrave 


300  WANDERING  GHOSTS 

Square,  he  saw  the  small  ghost  flitting  before  him. 
Sometimes  it  was  only  a  shadow,  where  there  was 
other  light,  but  then  the  glare  of  the  lamps  made 
a  pale  green  sheen  on  its  little  Mother  Hubbard 
frock  of  silk;  and  sometimes,  where  the  streets 
were  dark  and  silent,  the  whole  figure  shone  out 
brightly,  with  its  yellow  curls  and  rosy  neck. 
It  seemed  to  trot  along  like  a  tiny  child,  and  Mr. 
Puckler  could  almost  hear  the  pattering  of  the 
bronze  kid  slippers  on  the  pavement  as  it  ran. 
But  it  went  very  fast,  and  he  could  only  just  keep 
up  with  it,  tearing  along  with  his  hat  on  the  back 
of  his  head  and  his  thin  hair  blown  by  the  night 
breeze,  and  his  horn-rimmed  spectacles  firmly  set 
upon  his  broad  nose. 

On  and  on  he  went,  and  he  had  no  idea  where 
he  was.  He  did  not  e^  en  care,  for  he  knew  cer 
tainly  that  he  was  going  the  right  way. 

Then  at  last,  in  a  wide,  quiet  street,  he  was 
standing  before  a  big,  sober-looking  door  that  had 
two  lamps  on  each  side  of  it,  and  a  polished  brass 
bell-handle,  which  he  pulled. 

And  just  inside,  when  the  door  was  opened,  in 
the  bright  light,  there  was  the  little  shadow,  and 
the  pale  green  sheen  of  the  little  silk  dress,  and 
once  more  the  small  cry  came  to  his  ears,  less  piti 
ful,  more  longing. 

«  Pa-pa ! " 


THE  DOLL'S  GHOST  301 

The  shadow  turned  suddenly  bright,  and  out  of 
the  brightness  the  beautiful  brown  glass  eyes  were 
turned  up  happily  to  his,  while  the  rosy  mouth 
smiled  so  divinely  that  the  phantom  doll  looked 
almost  like  a  little  angel  just  then. 

"A  little  girl  was  brought  in  soon  after  ten 
o'clock/*  said  the  quiet  voice  of  the  hospital  door 
keeper.  "I  think  they  thought  she  was  only 
stunned.  She  was  holding  a  big  brown-paper  box 
against  her,  and  they  could  not  get  it  out  of  her 
arms.  She  had  a  long  plait  of  brown  hair  that 
hung  down  as  they  carried  her." 

"  She  is  my  little  girl,"  said  Mr.  Puckler,  but  he 
hardly  heard  his  own  voice. 

He  leaned  over  Else's  face  in  the  gentle  light 
of  the  children's  ward,  and  when  he  had  stood 
there  a  minute  the  beautiful  brown  eyes  opened 
and  looked  up  to  his. 

"  Pa-pa  !  "  cried  Else,  softly,  "  I  knew  you  would 
come ! " 

Then  Mr.  Puckler  did  not  know  what  he  did  or 
said  for  a  moment,  and  what  he  felt  was  worth  all 
the  fear  and  terror  and  despair  that  had  almost 
killed  him  that  night.  But  by  and  by  Else  was 
telling  her  story,  and  the  nurse  let  her  speak,  for 
there  were  only  two  other  children  in  the  room, 
who  were  getting  well  and  were  sound  asleep. 

"  They  were  big  boys  with  bad  faces,"  said  Else, 


302  WANDKRINT.   GHOSTS 

"and  they  tried  to  get  Nina  away  from  me,  but  I 
held  on  and  fought  as  well  as  I  could  till  one  of 
them  hit  me  with  something,  and  I  don't  remember 
any  more,  for  I  tumbled  down,  and  I  suppose  the 
bovs  ran  awav,  and  somebody  found  me  there. 
But  I'm  afraid  Nina  is  all  smashed." 

"•Here  is  the  box,"  said  the  nurse.  "We  could 
not  take  it  out  of  her  arms  till  she  came  to  herself. 
Should  you  like  to  S«M-  if  tin*  doll  is  broken?" 

And  she  undid  the  string  cleverly,  but  Nina  was 
all  smashed  to  pieces.  Only  the  gentle  light  of 
the  children's  ward  mad»*  a  jKile  green  sheen  in  the 
folds  of  the  little  Mother  Hubbard  frock. 


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